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icallhimjoey · 2 years

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Easier In Greece

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Joe's in an interesting stage of life when he's offered an equally interesting project. You whisk him off to Greece and spend eight days together on a boat with high expectations of which none turn out to be true. CW / disclaimer: rpf (don’t read if this makes you uncomfy), fem!reader, brief mention of claustrophobia, dead octopuses, fish touching you, Joe loses those sunglasses - no nvm its all silly shit, you'll be fine

Author’s note: this is so completely out of my comfort zone, and i felt weird all throughout writing it, but i had kind words of @ghostinthebackofyourhead to coach me through - hope you liiiiiike, replies and reblogs are appreciated!

Wordcount: 7.9K

Again, Joe and love didn’t meet, even though he so desperately had hoped that this had been it.

The one.

It very muchly hadn’t been, and in hindsight, he didn’t really know why he’d ever thought it was.

Now in his late twenties, Joe decided to stop and have look at the stats. Maybe an industry party wasn’t the best location to take time to reflect, but the stunning woman who just shot Joe down forced him into looking inwards for a second.

What am I doing wrong? Joe thought.

Unsurprisingly, Joe concluded that the stats weren’t good at all.

So, just for now, for the foreseeable future, the summer at least, Joe was done with women. Sure, they’d be all shiny and smiley in ads, on Instagram, in films… but those same women would never come over to his flat and just sit on his Ikea sofa with him after a long day’s work.

Looking back, Joe realised that he’d chosen a tactic that felt oddly similar to what American boxers call dope-a-rope; no matter how hard your competition, or even yourself, tries to get you down, you won’t actually get down until you hit yourself in the face. At least, that’s what Joe thought dope-a-rope meant, anyway.

Failed first dates, failed second dates, situationships that never turned into relationships, relationships ending over all sorts of different reasons – Joe forgot about them fast, in hopes that he’d know exactly what to do when he’d finally run into her; the one.

Joe was young still, you know, if you asked anyone older, but he already had enough of all of this bullshit.

So. Bye, ladies.

That’s what he decided would be the right plan for him that night. Tell love goodbye. Easy enough to say it aloud, and it was a decision that after four drinks felt totally right, but Joe hadn’t anticipated what it meant to actually try to stick with it.

He felt a bit like a mad, distraught toddler whose balloon had just popped.

When he saw the head of Olivier Magazine walking up to him, someone he met previously and wouldn’t really consider a friend, but he had some pictures to show that they at least knew each other, he decided to take it all out on him.

“Matthew,” Joe started when he walked into earshot.

“Joe,” he replied, unaware of Joe’s intentions. “Good to see you, mate. I’m going to call you tomorrow with a real fun project for you.” And then Matthew walked right past him, leaving Joe without words.

The next day, hungover-Joe got the phone call.

“Joe, it’s Matt, say… you’re a single man, aren’t you?”

“… yes.”

Then the conversation had taken a surprisingly strange turn. A journalist had a spread in mind for Olivier Magazine with a very specific focus: tour companies for single people who invite ambitious travelers on somewhat of a budget who are looking to meet and connect with like-minded people while exploring new and exciting places along the way. She really wanted to focus on single men. The trip abroad would more so just be the background for it.

It sounded like an accumulation of every nightmare Joe had ever had.

“I’m sure you’ll appreciate the break, and we’ll get some fantastic photos taken!”

Joe listened to Matt’s pitch as he swiftly opened his laptop where he googled the name of the journalist that he’d mentioned. It only took a couple of seconds for Joe to find himself staring at a picture of you. A pretty girl, around his age, smiling at him like those women did in the ads, and on Instagram.

“You-” Joe interrupted Matt who still was in the middle of talking about how beautiful the Mediterranean Sea was this time of year. “-are not being serious, are you?”

About a week later, Joe got an e-mail from you. “Hey Joe, have you heard? We’re going to go on a trip together.”

Day One: London to Athens

Greece was where you were taking Joe. The place where Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love, left her footsteps in the sand. It was precisely the wrong thing to tell Joe upon first meeting him, but you didn’t know, and he also didn’t let on.

You were looking at an eight-day boat trip with Joe, and you still weren’t sure how you’d gotten Olivier roped in on it. The idea seemed too bold to even be taken seriously at all, but maybe that was exactly why Matthew had decided to go for it. And he knew just the guy for it too.

Had Joe not accepted to go on this trip with you for you to write about single men on trips designed for single people, you probably still would’ve been sat at home, hoping that maybe another magazine would have only even considered listening to you talk about your ideas for original spreads to grace their pages.

But Joe had accepted, and now you were both on a boat from the organisation One Wave that was a lot smaller than you had expected. The captain of the boat, nicknamed Mr Wave by you, but never when he was around, had told you about the 2500 Greek islands and about the same number of singles that had been on the very boat you’d be staying on.

You had only just met a couple hours earlier, a quick handshake before boarding the plane in London. There had been some pleasantries e-mailed back and forth to at least try to get some knowledge of who either of you were before venturing out across Europe together, but it had all been quick, shallow words on screens. It was entirely different to be able to look into Joe’s eyes when you spoke to him.

Joe was charming.

Maybe not exactly your type, but... something oozed from him that you hadn’t been able to witness through his e-mails.

You were relieved to find out that you weren’t sat together on the flight. There was no need for small talk, or other awkward conversation. And from your seat, you had a pretty good view of him, which was even better. It gave you a chance to scope him out a little, see how he treated the flight attendants, the people he was sat near, what he’d do if the plane was to plummet over France somewhere and crash… all for the article you’d write, of course.

When Matthew said that Joe Quinn was game for your plans, you’d silently cursed at him.

An actor?

A single actor?

One who was on pretty much every guest list of every award show right now?

Big ask for him not to be absolutely full of himself.

But so far, he seemed fine. Normal. Almost a little boring.

To be able to take off on the boat, you were going to have to find it first. A difficult task on the first night in a country of which neither of you spoke or could even read the language.

It was dark and the harbour was larger than you thought it’d be. Joe was using the flashlight on his phone to shine at every boat’s name in hopes of accidentally finding the right one within the first few minutes.

You were surprised that you felt a little responsible for your travel buddy – this whole thing had been your idea, and had you had more time to prepare, you’d have taken Joe to the right boat immediately.

Joe had been gracious enough during your search to offer to carry your bag. He immediately regretted helping out when he felt the weight of it as he threw it over his shoulder, but he didn’t mention it.

Joe was happy you weren’t as shy as he would’ve been in this situation had he been in your shoes. You had no issue asking for the right way a million times, using hands and feet to signal what you were looking for, until you finally pinpointed the correct boat.

When you finally set foot on board of the boat named Paris – named after a Greek Prince that seduced the beautiful Helena, or kidnapped her, depending on how much of a feminist you were – you met the other travelers.

Tim, who brought his six-year-old son, which was weird. It made Joe and you look at each other funny, clearly thinking the same thing.

Dan, a guy from Manchester who kept saying, “Maybe I’m just old-fashioned, but,” before everything he said.

And Martin, the owner of the boat and thus your captain for the week.

There were other guests, more of them, who weren’t sat on deck; either already asleep inside, or still on their way over.

The two of you would obviously also be sleeping on the boat. That led to one of those things Joe hadn’t even fully thought of yet: sleeping arrangements.

Did you want a small, tiny room with bunkbeds originally designed for two children? Or did you want to sleep in the one double bed left located in the front of the boat?

Joe swallowed hard when he looked at you, the choices echoing in his mind. Stay in a bed, with you? Joe might have bid farewell to love, albeit temporarily, he was still a man.

“Joe?”

“It’s your call.” ever the gentleman.

And after a quick tour and a swift look at the options, it was an easy choice to make. There was no way the bunkbeds were going to fit Joe’s legs.

“We’ll take the double bed.”

Day Two: Athens to Epidaurus

The mornings were busy on the boat. Besides the guests you met the night before, you got to meet the other passengers of the Paris. Charlie, Martin’s son Jesse, who happened to also be Charlie’s best friend, and two older lovers, Daisy and Frank.

It’s entirely not the vibe you thought you’d find on this trip, island hopping in Greece, being amongst travelers on the lookout for other singles to meet and mingle with. There was a child and a couple within your group, and it threw you for a loop.

This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind for your multiple page opinion piece that would feature stunning photographs (you imagined, they hadn’t been taken yet) of a bronzed Joe Quinn, an open white shirt loosely hung over his shoulders, billowing in the wind on a luxurious yacht, with a deep blue sea and Grecian islands in the background.

The mental image of it had been so dreamy, but this felt a bit like a weird family trip with a bunch of relatives who had seen you last when you were in diapers still.

You learned later that the couple was only there because the divorced Frank had already booked the trip before he’d met Daisy through online dating, and he hadn’t been able to get a refund. They were very apologetic about it. What was worse, and not entirely clear to Joe and you just yet, was that Frank and Daisy had immediately taken a liking to the both of you because they thought they weren’t the only couple there.

There were other boats from One Wave, and when you bobbed out of the harbour onto the open sea, you could see that there were at least eight of the same boats, traveling alongside you. There wasn’t enough wind to let the sails down, but that was alright. Slowly hours passed as you passed the islands, sun beaming down, sunscreen thick on your nose and tops of your shoulders.

As a journalist, you’d decided to use your skills to get Joe talking.

When you sat down next to Joe on the edge of the boat near the front, legs dangling over, catching splashes of the seawater below, Joe hadn’t expected your approach to have been teaching him an unasked lesson about time and space.

“So, think of this,” you said. “There’s no time. It’s not there, doesn’t exist.” Your facial expression was utterly serious as you rambled about past, present and future all stacked on top of each other. You tried your hardest to get a reaction out of Joe. “Really, the universe just has its way to take care of you, trust me.”

Joe wasn’t convinced. What you’d hoped would’ve happened was that Joe would’ve either outrageously agreed or disagreed with you. It held the opportunity to either dive deep into a philosophic chat or would have the two of you bickering. Either one would’ve given you food for thought for your article.

What you hadn’t anticipated is where Joe took it.

Humour.

After three minutes you had to ban him from making further jokes about it.

After a full day of getting to know everyone, you all stepped off your boats in Epidaurus around four in the afternoon. Adding all the other boats and their passengers to your group, you ended up in a company of about thirty people.

The group held more men than women, but to your surprise, there were also women in their thirties who had brought their children along. And over dinner and drinks you learned that Dan, from your boat, also had a son around the same age as Tim’s he had wanted to bring along. It was due to a miscommunication with his ex-wife that that hadn’t happened.

Joe caught Dan looking at Tim’s boy with sad eyes and had cleared his throat loudly before changing the subject over to Jesse and Charlie, the two lads in their earlier twenties.

Unbeknownst to you, Joe found himself to have a lot in common with them when they talked about girls, and how they had given up on them for a bit. The chat at your table turned almost therapeutic; everyone shared why they were single, and it was all different, but all complex.

You didn’t share, and neither did Joe. No one pressed it, which was nice.

And then it dawned on you.

People go on these trips more so to avoid couples all together.

To not be surrounded by public displays of affection from lovey-dovey coupled-up friends and family.

To be on a trip where you’re not the third or fifth wheel amongst them.

To be in a group of like-minded people and to just hang out together.

It’s why there were children there too – how lovely must it be to take a trip with other single parents who share the same hardships as you? The whole world suddenly seemed to be catered towards couples only, unfairly so.

You felt like you discovered a secret treasure not meant for your eyes. Your revelation blew fresh air into your passion project, right there at the dinner table, and you tapped away in your notes app on your phone to capture as much of your trail of thought as you could.

When you noticed Joe peeking over you shoulder, you shoved him away.

“Are you not meant to be writing about me?” Joe smirked, having caught some of what you were writing down.

“I was.” You said pointedly, closing the app and putting your phone down.

Day Three: Epidaurus to Poros

For the second time, Joe woke up next to you which ultimately wasn’t as weird as he thought it would have been.

Should have been.

You both were very adult about it together. But sometimes a bigger boat would pass, and it’d make your boat dance over larger waves. Not an issue, maybe a little nauseating, but it meant that you’d accidentally touch a lot in the night. You were both level-headed about it though. Definitely well-trained professionals. Joe tried to think of another job where people had to sleep in the same bed, for several nights, in sticky Mediterranean heat after hanging out in swimwear all day.

Nothing came to mind.

It hadn’t just been the sleeping arrangement that had helped grow the sense of familiarity between the two of you fast. Standing in one of the tiny bathrooms of the boat, you were both brushing your teeth, and Joe wasn’t sure why or how he felt this was a totally normal thing to do, but he’d lean over your shoulder to spit into the sink for which you would then turn the tap on to wash it away.

Professionals.

You started that day with a big sigh. There was a bus excursion planned to a museum in Epidaurus, but you weren’t in the mood for it.

“I’m not a huge fan of seeing things,” you protested with a shrug. It was a weird hill to die on, entirely made up of lies. You were just moody. “Things are places. I get it.”

It made Joe remember why he’d sworn off love.

“So, don’t come then.” Joe tried.

“No, no,” Another sigh. “I’ll come.”

Women.

When you got to the museum, Joe didn’t understand how you were still fun to be around when grumpy. He wondered if he was fun to be around, just so that this trip would at least be a little bearable for you, but you hadn’t mentioned anything to Joe about it yet, so he figured he was fine. You seemed the type of person to tell him straight away if he was boring, and he kind of liked that about you.

Because the old Greeks didn’t have microphones, obviously, the museum you had set foot into was known for its acoustics. Every room had been designed for sound to travel. When Charlie and Jesse had gleefully decided to test it by singing Sweet Caroline, they had your entire group join in within seconds.

“Hands… touching hands… reaching out… touching me… touching you…”

They became louder and rowdier, dancing now too, arms reaching and touching each other. Smiles grew bigger when no one seemed to stop them. The other tourists there however did not seem very happy with the disruption, and Joe saw you take a few steps away from the group.

“Having fun?” Joe yelled, trying to speak over the echoing voices practically shouting the chorus, half of them adding boisterous ‘so good, so good, so good’ whilst punching the air to fill the short silence in between. Meanwhile Dan had found a table to drum the beat onto as others clapped.

“This is really embarrassing,” you mouthed at Joe, seeing the judgmental eyes from strangers that hurriedly left the room you were in. It only prompted Joe to be more embarrassing as he tried to rope you back into the group with cheesy dance moves and singing in a comically deep voice.

And you couldn’t actually believe it, but something about the joy that Joe could let shine from his eyes made you give in and join them in their antics.

After that, things got better.

Your mood got better.

Especially when you found a hotel where everyone was allowed a five-minute shower. It was likely to be the last good shower that you would get for the week.

That afternoon you sailed your way over to Poros, and you were struck by how much every single place you visited looked like it wasn’t real. Too picturesque. As if built for multi-million Hollywood films.

Poros, Martin told you, had a boulevard, so you could go shopping if you wanted to. Immediately excited, you helped dock the boat, having learnt a thing or two by now. You managed to jump of the boat swiftly, and caught the ropes thrown at you with ease, quickly tying them onto the thick hooks meant for them.

When Joe helped you get back onto the boat, something happened that made him feel for you: your sunglasses fell into the water. Joe watched them slowly sink deeper, and he was touched by how much the two of you were alike. Losing your sunglasses in the water was something so typical for Joe to do.

“Quick! Get them!” you called out, but Joe looked into the clear water and saw how they were already so close to the bottom. The two of you just watched as they hit the sand.

“Shit,” you muttered. “Those were such a good pair, too. Now you’ll have to get new ones.”

Hang on a minute, what?

Confused, Joe reached for the top of his head.

“Oh.”

Those sunglasses weren’t yours.

They were Joe’s.

Losing sunglasses in the water wasn’t something Joe would do. It’s something he did.

You spent the afternoon walking the boulevard and perching pairs of sunglasses on Joe’s slightly sunburned nose, in search of finding a pair that you both liked on him.

“What about these ones?” Joe asked you and turned his face so you could see.

You looked up from your phone at him shortly.

“Those are nice.”

And to be fair, you liked most of them on Joe, but Joe wasn’t as easy. He was after a pair similar enough to the ones he’d lost and took the job seriously.

“Listen, I know you’re here to do a job,” Joe placed his hand over your phone and pushed it down slightly. “But right now, your job should be to tell me how beautiful I look in these instead of writing about it.” Joe joked, and it was enough to make you laugh and slide your phone back into your pocket.

“You look stunning.”

“Okay, I’ll get them.”

Day Four: Poros to Vathy

“You’re single because you don’t know how to have a proper argument,” a friend of Joe had told him before he’d gone on this trip.

Joe had heard so many sentences start with “You’re single because…” but this was a new one. And Joe had agreed. Joe was quick to admit he’d been wrong, even if he hadn’t been, would just listen to complaints and then adapt, giving the other person no pushback. It was just easier that way.

This trip, however, wasn’t the time to practice arguing for the sake of getting better at it and perhaps enhancing his luck in relationships.

On the boat you laughed a lot.

The way you’d envisioned all of you to be a weird make-shift family had kind of become reality in the best sense of the word. You had revealed to be a journalist who was merely on the trip to write about it, and it had intrigued everyone.

Charlie and Jesse had immediately come up with pseudonyms for themselves: Charlie would be Jesse, and Jesse would be Charlie. It was such a stupid joke; it had left you giggling just thinking of it hours later.

Joe had then also told them that he was there as your subject, which made it sound as if you held full power over him. You realised then that you sort of did and wondered if that was how Joe had felt the whole time you’d been around each other. You hoped he hadn’t, knowing it would be so much nicer if Joe would just be fully himself without also keeping busy doing guesswork as to what you’d write about him later. Plus, you’d kind of grown fond of the Joe you had gotten to know, so imagining him not being fully himself stung a little.

Once you got off the boat and stepped into Vathy, your legs felt wobbly stepping onto land. “Sea legs,” you said when grabbing hold of the closest thing to you to find your balance.

“Here.”

The closest thing had been Joe, and he held out his arm for you to link yours through for your walk.

More of your company felt their legs had to get used to being on steady ground again, and Martin had given you the advice to go for a run around the island. It would get jitters out, but more importantly pump oxygen into your muscles which would prevent funny legs later in the trip.

The sun was high in the sky, and Joe really didn’t want to work out, but after lunch you managed to talk him into it by challenging his ego. He threw it right back at you; there was no way you would be able to keep up with him, that’s obviously why he hadn’t wanted to go running with you at first, but if you really insisted on learning how slow you really were, you were Joe’s guest.

Joe mentally took back every joke he made when he later saw you fighting up a hill in the blearing heat of the late afternoon.

On your run together through winding, sandy lanes you were stopped twice by sheep and cows crossing the street. It was almost ridiculous how cliché it all felt, but Vathy really was more beautiful than you’d seen online. On your left you were looking down at the sea where the light was dancing on the waves like liquid diamonds.

Far from the harbour, more out to open sea, a dozen or so shapes bobbed up and down on the water, and with their shiny black bodies, they could easily be mistaken for seals. But if you looked closer, you’d see they were surfers waiting, watching for their next wave.

You had pointed them out to Joe, but secretly, Joe only had eyes for you.

Maybe it was just the air up there, Joe hoped, but you were so pretty like this.

Sweaty cheeks, lips flushed, chest heaving.

Joe didn’t mind you taking the lead, running two, three steps ahead, turning into side roads and deciding which way to go. It gave him all the more opportunity to look at you.

When you stopped for some water, body pumping with endorphins, you noticed how Joe’s white T-shirt was drenched in his sweat, its white fabric now translucent enough for you to see his nipples through.

Seeing them like this was inherently funnier than seeing them when Joe would be topless, swimming, diving off the boat and climbing back on only to dive off again.

You smiled through heavy pants and after screwing the top back onto your water bottle, you used a finger to poke him right in one of his nipples before scurrying off, continuing your run.

Day Five: Vathy to Perdika

Today you were harshly reminded you were on a business trip instead of a family holiday when you were called by Olivier Magazine. There was only just enough reception for you to take the call and talk through the material you had so far.

You’d snuck into the bedroom for it, so others wouldn’t hear, but you’d forgotten the hatch window in the ceiling that opened to the deck where Joe was laid out to sunbathe.

“Not yet, I don’t want it too forced, you know? I’ll have to sneak a few,”

“I could just use my phone,”

“Yea, I have it, it’s just huge,”

“Not really… but, yea, no, okay,”

“Okay, I will.”

Joe didn’t like how you sounded defeated as you ended the call, but moved over quickly, away from the hatch window.

When you stepped out in a shy-making short dress, carrying a big camera, Joe understood you’d been given an awkward task. It was absolutely impossible to sneak pictures of him with that, so he decided he’d help out.

“Ooh, give that to me!” he held out a hand from all the way across the boat, encouraging you to make your way over and hand him the camera. Joe took it like a child would take a toy, turned it on and immediately started playing with settings, taking test shots of his feet dangling over the edge.

You internally sighed with relief and thought of what else your writing should include. Joe’s helpful demeanour, for sure.

You let Joe play with the camera, warning him not to drop it from the boat like he had done his sunglasses, forcing him to wear the strap around his neck at all times, and you made your way back into the cabin.

It was time to get some words out, from your phone and from your brain onto your laptop and hopefully in a coherent enough manner to get some of it over to Olivier for feedback.

So, you sat down opposite the kitchen and organised everything you needed.

You could hear people laugh up on the deck, and you imagined them posing for photos Joe was taking of them. It took some pressure off, knowing Joe had fun without you meant you could just sit inside for a bit to get work done.

It had been over two hours when you heard the camera’s shutter a lot closer to you than you felt was possible with you being the only one inside. You looked up from your laptop to see a hand holding it stuck through a hatch window in the ceiling, lens pointing at you. You smiled but said you’d delete that later. It was met with loud groans from the deck, followed by Daisy who told the boys to leave you alone. Another 45 minutes passed.

“Jesse, you’re lowering the anchor in three minutes!” Martin called out as he stepped down the ladder into the cabin.

“Have you ever snorkelled before?” he asked you as he reached for a cabinet, revealing a pile of different kinds of goggles inside.

You didn’t think you’d ever felt more claustrophobic in your life, breathing through a tube with your face down under the water. The fact that the water was clear enough for you to see how deep it was really didn’t help.

And even though very pretty, fish would get very close to you and you didn’t want to touch them.

“Come here,” Joe swam over when you’d sputtered and coughed again as you attempted another go at it.

“You know how to float on your back, right? It’s the same, but face down.”

And Joe’s hands guided your body as his legs kicked underneath him to keep himself above water. He placed one hand on your stomach that pushed up slightly.

“That's it.”

His other hand was for you to grip onto, because panic hadn’t left your system yet and Joe held onto it until you’d gotten the hang of it.

Day Six: Perdika to Korfos

Joe was sixteen when for the first time something happened in his life that was love-related. He was sitting on a bench and had been inches away from kissing a girl. He could still see himself sitting there, but strangely enough he really couldn’t remember for the life of him if he got to actually kiss her that afternoon, or not.

It was a thought that was wrecking his brain whilst laying out to tan on the Paris.

You were next to him, and you were reading – or at least, holding onto a book, but away from everyone else, you fell into easy conversation together.

Joe talked about the girl on the bench when he’d been sixteen.

Your chats had been borderline forgettable on day one, but nearing in on a week later, your chats had gotten deeper, and Joe fed you information for your piece.

You wondered if you should mention that nothing was off the record with you as Joe’s chats got more private, but you didn’t want to ruin the moment and shut him up.

Joe talked about the women from the ads, Instagram and films and how none of them ever found themselves sat in his living room. How he’d been shot down as he had tried to flirt with someone at an industry party where he’d ran into Matthew.

You were at that party too, but you refrained from telling Joe.

You hadn’t seen him, but it stung a little that he’d been there and had been willing to flirt with strangers. You could’ve been one of them. You remembered Matthew telling you that night that he had green-lit your pitch, and you’d gotten plastered.

Who knows what would’ve happened had actually ran into him that night.

To break the tension a little, Joe pointed a passing boat.

“Look,” he said. “That’s what I think–” and then Joe looked at you before sarcastically adding a side comment, “way, way, after you of course,” you raised your eyebrows and looked in the direction of Joe’s pointing finger. “– is a pretty lady.”

“Are you joking?” you couldn’t help but chuckle.

It was entirely too predictable.

Joe’d pointed out a gorgeous blonde girl who couldn’t have been older than 20 at most, wearing a bright pink shimmery bikini with a huge sunhat that shaded her face perched on top of her head.

Of course he thought she was beautiful; she was textbook pretty.

“If that’s your type I want to formerly apologise for you not having met any on this trip.”

You turned over onto your stomach, letting the sunbeams dance along your back to even out your tan.

“Dolphins!” Martin suddenly shouted, making Joe eat whatever his reaction to your comment was going to be.

You both sat up immediately and saw them shooting over the water. It was a perfect image: the calm blue sea, green mountains from the islands you were passing and the stretched out blue sky with dolphins playing along the side of your boat.

It felt like a fairy tale, and you were lucky someone handed you your camera in time for you to capture it.

Sailing led you to a new island and a new village.

Korfos was a place so small, there wasn't even ATMs there, and Martin only knew of one restaurant for you to go to. There you were greeted by something you’d never seen before in your life. Outside, bordering the seating area where you all sat down, there was a tight twine bound between two trees that was filled with hanging octopuses, drying out in the sun side by side. You learned it was a traditional way of preparing them, but that didn’t take away your slight alarm at the sight.

At dinner Martin told old sailing stories, you pointed at blonde girls for Joe which you found a lot funnier than he did, and Dan got drunk. When he, at the end of dinner, helped two young children buy ice cream, he looked back at your table and shouted, “Just like old times! Kids, man, they’re the best thing that can happen to you!” And no one poked fun or told him to calm down. The sheer acceptance felt ‘round the table could’ve make you cry.

When back on the boat, all tucked into bed, Dan was still drunk.

“Ay, ay captain!” he kept yelling from his bed, and the both of you were doing a bad job stifling your laughter. It had you rolling into each other in between the sheets.

“Hey,” Dan yelled, and the both of you froze in anticipation of what as going to be coming next, big eyes looking into each other’s.

“I might be old-fashioned,” his catchphrase made laughter escape Joe’s throat loudly.

“But don’t put me on the cover of your magazine, alright?”

You could go into detail of why what he just said was wrong, because you didn’t yield that power, the magazine wasn’t yours, and he was just Dan from Manchester, a single dude who missed his son. Why would he be on the cover of Olivier Magazine?

But obviously, you didn’t do that.

“Okay, Dan, I promise.”

Day Seven: Korfos to Athens

You had been woken up by Joe carefully peeling your arm off of his chest and sliding away from your embrace.

It was almost painful when you realised what he was doing, and the gentleness of his fingers that tried their best not to wake you made it worse.

Your arm must have snuck its way over in the night, and you hadn’t been aware, but it left you embarrassed enough to avoid Joe’s eyes during breakfast.

While the day had started with a beautiful sea for all of you to dip into before setting of back to Athens, it wasn’t your day. Which was a shame for your last full day in Greece.

You thought it might have been the looming end of your trip, or the pressure of finishing up writing that you really should have done so much more of. But you kept mulling over the fact that Joe had moved you away from him in bed that morning, and ultimately, that was what had affected you the most.

At noon, when there was time to walk into Athens and have some fun, Joe pressured you to join him, which you felt you couldn’t.

Also, he couldn’t, because you needed photographs of Joe on a boat with an opened white shirt that billowed behind him in the wind, like you’d envisioned when you booked this trip for the two of you.

But you weren’t going to ask him to pose for you, because you felt dumb for having to do so.

And Joe’s chest was peeling because he hadn’t been using sunscreen properly.

None of it was right.

Suddenly, you were fighting. And as friendly and professional you’d been all throughout the week, so mean were you towards each other now. You were all biting remarks, scratchy words, and angry tones.

“You can’t not come, it’s our last full day!” Joe had roped Dan and Martin in on it too. Three against one, entirely unfair, especially after his rejection of you that morning because that's what it had become in your mind.

“Wanker,” you muttered before shutting the flimsy door to your bedroom and shutting him out. Joe thought you were being absolutely ridiculous, but it really pissed him off when you shouted, “Yes, I’m a horrible person!” putting words in his mouth.

“God, you’re not a bad person! I never said that!”

You were still hissing at each other when you joined Dan and Martin, piling into a taxi together to go and climb the Acropolis of Athens. Martin had managed to talk you into it and you’d angrily given in. When Joe looked surprised, and offered to help you get off the boat, you’d refused and had taken a big jump.

Joe pretended he hadn’t seen you almost fall over and scrape up your knees.

The climb to the top had been a silent one. Dan would stop to take photographs with your camera, and you were glad the task of capturing Joe was in someone else’s hands.

At the top of the Acropolis, you thought to yourself that more than only the Parthenon had been damaged.

And for what?

Stress over work?

From up here, you looked down behind you and felt silly at the problems you’d created for yourself down there.

Dan passed you your camera, and you caught Joe looking over at you.

“Do you still like me?” Joe asked when he started growing doubtful if your friendship was still mendable, to at least finish the trip nicely.

“No,” you answered, but you smiled.

The sun within you had risen. “Can I take your picture?” you asked, the source of the initial problem now out of you.

“Of course, go ahead.”

Back from all the ruins, you put Dan and Martin in a taxi back to the harbour and decided to go for dinner and drinks in Athens. To see what the night life was like here.

“And we’ll see if we can find you a nice blonde girl!”

You laughed at the fact that what you had originally thought this whole trip was going to be, the great purpose of going on a trip designed for single people, got boiled down to this last evening on the last day of the full thing.

But first, there was dinner.

You found a cosy little restaurant tucked away in an alley and Joe knew that the connection he felt to you then was much stronger than before because of the fight you’d had earlier.

“They all thought we were a couple, hey?” Joe said, speaking truths that had been left unspoken up until then.

“Yea,” you nodded. “Made me feel a little proud on our first day here,” you confessed, and you saw Joe bite the inside of his cheek.

Joe thought that was the nicest thing you’d said to him, and it was going to be weird that he wasn’t going to be seeing you anymore in two days. Because you weren’t his, he knew that. It felt a little like, how the classic Paris had kidnapped Helena, Joe had kidnapped you for a week.

“You know,” you started. “You don’t have to be so mythical about women. Really, it’s all way easier than you think. Sometimes just ‘are you free tonight’ is enough if it’s the right one.”

Were you flirting?

“Easier, huh? I’ll try and remember that. Can I tell you something crazy?”

“Sure,” you had your doubts about how crazy whatever Joe was going to tell you was going to be.

The Joe you had gotten to know wasn’t crazy at all. He was kind, soft, funny, and caring.

You’d formed a weird friendship, where sometimes you’d catch him staring at you and he’d look away quickly.

The boundaries you had initially felt between the two of you that served its purpose for you as a journalist to keep at least a little distance had been completely shattered on that first night in bed together.

“When I agreed to do this trip with you, it was only because I’d sworn of women.” Joe started, not making the best case for himself.

“Interesting, is it men now?” you joked, before pointedly adding, “Everything’s on the record here, choose your words wisely.” which made Joe laugh.

“I’m sure you have those moments where you’re just exhausted with the whole premise of dating, right? Especially in London.” Joe relayed it back to you, which was smart. It instantly meant that if you were going to answer, you wouldn’t want to include it in your piece.

So, you shrugged in a non-answer.

“I made a pact with myself that, for at least the summer, I wouldn’t try to chase it.”

“Chase what?”

“Love.”

You froze for a second and looked up at Joe.

“And how’s that gone so far?”

The air felt charged and you could see the straight path you wanted Joe to walk right towards you, but with every word Joe’d say, there was the possibility that he’d stray off of it.

Every next word out of Joe’s mouth was either going to be terrible or magnificent.

“Oh, it was so effortless for the first few days.” Of your trip, Joe meant. “You’ve seen our group.” Joe then stated, and you laughed.

“We’re not exactly surrounded by temptation, are we?”

A silence lingered, and you tried to imagine what Joe was thinking. Did he disagree? Were you temptation? Had Joe not removed your arm from his body because he felt disgusted by it, but because it would open doors he didn’t feel he could open? Should open? Or, had he been just hot and uncomfortable under your sticky limb? You just realised that had been an option too.

“I didn’t think I’d have so much fun on this tip, though. I think I’ve come to love all of you a bit.” Joe then smiled, and you copied it.

Yes, he was right.

Tim and his kid had become your somewhat distant uncle who relished in teaching his son how to play sudoku.

Dan was the drunk uncle who had so much weight on his shoulders, it had turned him funny.

Martin was the father, and not just because Jesse would call him dad all the time.

Jesse and Charlie were your younger brothers, maybe even twin brothers, who were annoying sometimes but hilarious always.

Frank and Daisy felt like grandparents, even though technically they weren’t old enough unless a string of teen pregnancies tied you together.

You weren’t sure who you and Joe were in this family, or what you were to each other for that matter.

“Me too,” you said. “It’s going to be a weird couple of pages in Olivier next month.”

“Yea?”

“It’ll have your face on, I’m sure it’ll do good, but it’s absolutely not what I expected it was going to be beforehand.”

Joe just looked at you.

“Which is probably good, if I had found exactly what I thought I was going to find, I might as well not have gone.”

“What did you find?” Joe pressed.

“Ah, you’ll have to read that in the magazine like everybody else next month, I’m afraid.” You teased.

And so, he did. Joe’s management had received a copy of the magazine about 4 days before its release date.

Summer was over, and the autumn issues were about to come out. It graced Joe on the cover, sat on the side of the boat, legs dangling over the side, arms and head resting on the metal bar that prevented him from falling into the water.

You could see his peeling chest and his sunburnt nose, and with the sun shining bright, Joe hadn’t opted to slide the sunglasses from his hair, but instead he had shut one eye and squinted at the camera with a smile. It was very boyfriend of him, entirely too dreamy not to have been chosen as the cover shot. You hadn’t taken it, and it had cost you precious company time to figure out who did, feeling like proper credits were in order.

It had left you with contact details to every single person you’d gotten to know on your trip, and you’d promised yourself you’d share all of it with Joe once the magazine would be out and you’d have a reason to e-mail him.

You’d managed to get twelve pages in. Twelve! It was double the amount you’d ever gotten in a magazine before. It was nine pages of photographs, and three pages of writing. You were nervous of what Joe was going to think of it, not even knowing if he was ever really going to read it.

Joe did read it, though.

Turning pages of photos, he was sad there hadn’t been any of you in them.

Some of the others had made it in; there was a smaller picture of Joe, Charlie and Jesse as they posed near the bow of the boat as if they were Greek Gods; a photo Daisy had taken of them. Martin was there too, sat behind the boat wheel wearing a captain’s hat that you hadn’t seen him wear for the full trip.

Joe was surprised by how much he missed it all; it truly felt like he was flipping through a family photo album and his chest filled with nostalgia.

“Got a copy. Need to call you. I don’t have your number, and Matthew won’t give it because he says I’ve got your e-mail.”

Joe sent an e-mail and had to wait entirely too long for you to reply to it.

“What a way to induce an anxiety attack on a Tuesday afternoon.” You’d e-mailed back, followed by your phone number.

It only took seconds for Joe to call.

“Sorry, no need to panic!” were the first words out of his mouth before you’d even gotten the chance to say hi.

“Bad choice of words on my part, sorry, but I’m looking at Olivier now and, I know it’s probably not customary to ring the writer with some feedback, but... it’s beautiful.” he followed.

“Hi,” you grinned as you got the word in.

“Hi,” Joe replied, sighing a laugh.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“You’re not in it.” Joe meant with a picture. He’d taken many of you, so he knew there’d been options for you to try.

“I am. Just in the words.”

“I like that you got some of the others in. Have they seen it yet?”

“No, but they will. I’ve gotten my hands on everyone’s details.”

“Is it weird that I miss them?”

“It’s not,” you laughed. “I miss them too. Especially Dan.”

“Especially Dan.” Joe agreed.

“So, summer’s over.” Joe closed the magazine and looked at his own face on the cover of it.

“It is.” You confirmed, unsure where Joe was going.

“I erm… I took your advice on not being so mythical about women.”

“Oh, good!” you were genuinely happy for Joe, and thought that maybe he was going to say how your trip had fixed him and he had now found the one woman who did look like the women do in ads that would also sit on his sofa in his flat with him.

“Are you free for dinner tonight?”

Oh.

“I- …. Yes. I am.”

---

The Taglisted: @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @jssmth5 @bagelofthelord67 @nobody-000 @lluviamg06 @thatonefan-girl @kylakins88 @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks - add yourself

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Fanfiction #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe x reader #Joseph x reader #fluff #joe quinn fluff

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griefabyss69 · 6 months

Note

05 scarification reclaimation for wip weekend?? (title alone has me like, hello? 👀)

Thank you for asking!!! So this one is like, an idea I've had for about a year, but didn't start writing until a few months ago (and didn't get much written on it). It's one of those things I wanted to just let rest for ages before attempting and then even now it's like, it needs time! And care! The gist of this fic is that Eddie needs to do something to take his body back for himself and is struggling with the aftermath of the UD This snippet is earlier than the stuff I just wrote (like twenty lines lmao) but I think it's a better introduction: ---

It's not until he's taking a weekend trip into the city that would make both his doctor and Steve go all tight in the mouth that he learns about what would really help.

The path to the answer is like a thread. It starts with a billboard advertisement about plastic surgery, moves onto a well timed news segment about scar reduction technology as he passes by a TV display, and almost it ends there, two simple steps to figuring out how to get himself back.

But he's dropping in to say hi to his tattoo artist even though he's not getting anything done, zoning out while he waits for their appointment to be done, a list of piercing prices going all blurry in front of him as someone drops into a seat near him in the waiting area.

"Hey, that looks pretty gnarly," greets a voice that sounds too much like Jonathan's neon friend Argyle to be coming out of a guy with a bull ring in his nose.

He just smiles, his confusion coloring it as he tries to think of what he's referring to, clearly something about Eddie with how it's just the two of them there.

"The scar," the guy clarifies, tapping at his own cheek, reflecting where Eddie's got the aftermath of a demobat's whip-like tail curled up around his jaw. "You get that done here?"

The confusion gets worse, and he squints at him, trying to puzzle it out, knowing he gets a slow brain sometimes but he's been feeling good today.

"Maybe not," the guy mumbles, before saving face with the barreling grace someone who doesn't let putting his foot in his mouth get in his way. "Just looked intentional, sorry man."

"People do that on purpose?" He asks, and he must sound interested enough because the guy lights up.

"Yeah dude," Heavy Metal Argyle says. "You ever hear about scarification?"

Eddie's mouth twists as his brain works over his memories, finding them all pretty inaccessible at the moment. He just shrugs, shakes his head, and indicates for him to go on.

He ends up digging through the stack of magazines on the waiting room table, an alternate dimension mirror to a hospital lounge, except all of the mags are of body modifications and alternative lifestyles, instead of recipes from ten years ago that will let housewives all across America throw the best Sunday Dinner or whatever.

Eddie watches him work, his one-track focus leaving Eddie sitting in an ignored silence, but he doesn't care, this guy is working hard just to find an example of something he wants Eddie to know about. It's kind of touching, makes him really miss just meeting strangers and caring way too much about them for like five hours before they part ways and never see each other again.

"Here we go! I knew it was in here," the guy eventually says, holding out a magazine he's folded open. "Read over that shit, and tell me yours doesn't look as cool as the photos there."

Eddie's flattered before he's even got his eyes on the page, used to any compliments about his body these days coming from praise for like, doing two pushups without giving up, or relief about how well the scar cream worked on his face - though given how obvious the injury is, it could be working a lot better.

It feels good, and so he gives the guy a smile, and yeah, maybe it's flirtatious, fucking sue him. It'll just look friendly anyway.

"Thanks man, I really appreciate that," he says, and starts to skim the page, looking for the gist of what he's been talking about.

He's still re-reading over every word when the guy's appointment comes up, and he nudges his foot against Eddie's, shooting him a grin.

"That's me, gonna punch another hole in my face," he says, winking as he stands. "Good luck."

"Thanks," he says, giving him a casual wave as he watches him walk away.

He realizes when it's too late that he never got the guy's name.

Maybe he knows he's just changed Eddie's fucking life.

#griefabyss69 writing #chats from the abyss #scarification reclamation

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croctus · 5 months

Note

how would you improve each datable NPC in Stardew Valley?

i was bewildered for a moment before i remembered i was talking shit about them on this blog previously haha! let me see. i think most of them i have issues with just act 10 years younger than they are- so there are a few ways this can be changed?

also keep in mind i adore stardew and really do like these characters even just as they are, im just a hater lol

judging hard-

Alex

i honestly think this guy could be GREATLY improved if he were actively taking care of his grandparents. maybe we see him out walking with them, on the roof doing repairs before a rainy day, running errands for them or cooking for them, etc. boy spends half his time staring at his dog in a household of two elderly disabled folks who could use him. even a teenager could take notice and offer to help.

Abigail

shes one of the most childish unfortunately lmao. i think one of the most glaring is she goes extremely hard in an easter egg hunt against two preschoolers- maybe if she instead tried to help one of them win but got a little competitive about it, thatd be cute? idk. additionally she could work part time at the store, or at the guild, or clint's, it'd fit her character.

Sam

i get the player interactivity elements but what kind of goober goes through all the work to put a band together but doesnt know what genre they wanna play, unless theyre just a teen interested in the aesthetic of a band. it comes across sorta inauthentic. boy rolls his eyes and grumbles when his mom asks him to help clean a fish, too. cmon man, youre grown.

Sebastian

both sam and seb suffer from the same 'gawwd stay out of my room MOOOM' sort of vibes- maybe if they had an apartment together but still regularly visited their parents for dinner theyd come across as a little more grown (not to say that like, living with parents is inherently childish but how they interact with their folks comes across that way). he also really shouldn't be taking his angst out on his opinion of his half sister, and maybe if he had a little more of a solid adult go-plan than 'im gonna run away to the city' hed seem more mature.

could b better-

Shane

i dont want to be harsh on this guy but he sort of backslides after marriage hardcore. depression isnt a singular uphill climb but at least he could show hes still working on it- the occasional mention of a talk with a therapist, or cleaning up a little after himself, etc. maybe trying to eat a little better when living on a farm lol.

Penny

shes fine, other than the scene w/ george: pushing his wheelchair without asking and then HE apologizes/the scene fames this action as a good thing and you lose points with her if you point out it's rude. sometimes in trying to help people, you dont always do the right thing for them - that would be a little more nuanced for her.

im just picky-

Elliott + Harvey

theyre fine? maybe itd be fun if elliott went on some book tours or somesuch in the winter regularly after marriage, and harvey joined a plane hobbyist group or smth. they have a lot of personality but an issue a lot of these characters have is they just sort of putter out after marriage

Leah + Haley

this game has a lot of redheads lol. leah is fine though, and haley is cute. like other npcs id just want them to find their own independent success with their artistic skills- maybe letters come in the mail occasionally to them congratulating them on photos/sculptures making it into magazines, etc, to show they still have their own things going on

Emily + Maru

they're fine, i just like older/fanmade versions of their sprites more lol

#long post #ramble ramble #thank you for asking!!!#pls do not take my opinions seriously

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makethatelevenrings · 2 years

Text

Invisible // B. Wayne x f!reader

Requested? Yes!

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT MINORS DNI, praise kink, sex toys

Summary: It seems like nothing you can do is right or valued. Your husband makes sure you know you’re loved.

“The Princess of Gotham,” tabloids declared. “Wayne’s woman.”

You hated the attention, especially the focus on your relationships rather than your work. To the public, you were the one who reformed notorious playboy Bruce Wayne to settle down. To the Justice League, you were Batman’s guiding compass and the only one able to wrangle all of the Gotham vigilantes.

Every detail about you and your family’s life was under constant scrutiny from the press and the public. You couldn’t even go to the grocery store with Alfred anymore without someone taking a photo and posting it on the internet criticizing your clothes and hair. You were exhausted, but you had an easy job. Your family were under the microscope of paparazzi by day and being beaten down by the criminal underworld of Gotham and Bludhaven at night.

You felt guilty by your frustration and frustrated by your guilt. It was a constant cycle of never being good enough. While you excelled with one kid, you failed another. Where you shone in one spot of the press, you faltered in another.

That frustration and guilt is why you found yourself aggressively beating the shit out of some eggs in the kitchen. Alfred sat at the table with a newspaper in hand, his eyes occasionally flickering to where you were making pancakes. Your wrists ached from the sheer amount of pancake batter you had made, but you had to make sure it would be enough for a small army because curse your family’s insane metabolism.

You were so engrossed in your work that you didn’t even hear footsteps enter the kitchen until a voice spoke up.

“Uhhh…Alf? You okay?” Tim asked. “Why aren’t you cooking?”

“Mistress Y/N insisted on making breakfast this morning and I agreed to the welcome break.”

“Hi Timmy,” you greeted. “Coffee pot’s full and I set out your favorite mug.”

He eyed you suspiciously but headed over to pour himself a cup regardless. As you were pouring batter onto the griddle, more people started piling into the kitchen. You tried to keep up with the food specifications you remembered. Strawberries for Jason, whipped cream and chocolate chips for Dick, waffles for Steph instead of pancakes, the list went on and on. By the time Bruce came downstairs, you had pancake batter smeared across your forehead and flour all down the apron you were wearing.

“Morning?” His greeting sounded more like a question as he bent down to press a kiss to your cheek. You let out a noncommittal hum and handed him a plate with a towering stack of pancakes.

“You have a meeting with Lucius at nine, a tour of the updated children’s wing of the hospital at eleven, lunch at one with Amanda Waller, a meeting with Lois at three to give her quotes on a story, and Tim and you need to discuss the next gala preparations with the design team at some point today,” you rattled off. “I made sure everyone’s calendars were updated and you will get notifications fifteen minutes before an event.”

The table fell silent and you looked up to find many, many concerned vigilantes staring at you. You flipped the last pancake up and onto a plate without even looking and set it in front of Alfred, pointedly ignoring the magazine he had traded out when Bruce snagged the newspaper from him. The front page cover was detailing your fashion fails of the year instead of the thousands you had raised and donated for Arkham reforms and better research into mental health.

“Alright, then. I need to go shower and get ready for the day,” you announced. You brushed the dirt metaphorically, and literally holy shit that was a lot of flour, off of your hands, hung your apron up on the wall hooks, and flitted out of the kitchen without another word.

“Did she…did she even eat?” Duke asked. Bruce lowered his coffee from his lips and his eyes narrowed as he thought over the question.

“Alfred, did Y/N eat before she cooked breakfast?”

“No, Master Bruce, I believe she did not. She was entirely focused on serving breakfast this morning. It appears, sir, that she is feeling as though she has something to prove.”

The world’s greatest detective took in the crime scene around him. Frantic morning cooking, making sure everyone had their favorite food, schedules memorized…his gaze drifted to the magazine in Alfred’s hands and it all clicked into place.

Bruce shoved back from the table and stood. “Alfred, cancel my meetings for the day unless someone else can take them. I have something I need to do.”

“Right on, sir. Took you long enough.” The last part was muttered and Bruce didn’t even have a retort for that. Alfred was right, as usual. His wife felt like a burden and he needed to prove that she wasn’t.

You took a longer than normal shower, but it was still under twenty minutes. There might have been a few tears shed. You were just bone tired and didn’t know how to fix it. It felt like nothing you did was ever enough.

Sliding on the short, silken robe Bruce had bought you once, you entered the master bedroom and paused at the sight of your husband seated on the bed.

“You’re supposed to be heading to work right now,” you pointed out.

“Tim is handling the business side of things. Dick and Jason are going to the hospital wing opening, Cass will handle Waller.”

“Okay…did something happen? JL business? Rogue attack?”

“No.”

You tossed your pajamas into the dirty clothes hamper in the massive closet attached to the master bedroom and turned to lean against the doorframe. You were fully aware of the silken fabric rippling across your skin and the heat of his gaze as he traced the lines of your body. Bruce held his hand out for you and, like he was gravity, you approached the bed and slid your hand in his.

“Have I told you recently how beautiful you are?” he murmured. One of his hands slid down to rest at the hem of the robe. It brushed just barely over the tops of your thighs and his fingers dug into the sensitive skin there, pulling you closer so his face was nearly level with your stomach.

“Every part of you,” he said. Bruce slid his hands along the back of your thighs, over the swell of your ass, and up your back before he moved to caress your stomach. He drew his hands along your skin to the front of the ties of your robe. Slowly, carefully, as if unwrapping a fragile present, he undid the knot and slipped the sleeves down your arms.

The robe dropped to the floor, pooling at your feet in a puddle of silken barrier. You were nude before him, a sight he had seen many times, but this felt different. Bruce tilted his chin up to gaze upon you like you were the moon and he was seeing the night sky for the very first time.

“Your brilliant mind,” he breathed, brushing one hand over your temple. You shuddered against his touch, your eyes falling shut as your heart swelled with affection.

“Your beautiful smile.” A touch against your lips. One of his fingers slipped between your lips and stroked along your tongue. You hollowed out your cheeks and sucked along his calloused finger before releasing it with a pop, eliciting a groan from him. He dragged his hand down to your neck, his fingers enclosing lightly around your throat as your own personal collar.

“Your voice. Hearing you speak about reforming the city or talking about the kids or chewing out idiots is so incredibly hot.” The hand slipped lower to rest on your sternum and he leaned forward, his lips capturing one of your nipples. You ran your fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck and arched your chest against his warm tongue. He chuckled low in his throat as he licked, sucked, and lavished attention on your breast before breaking away to do the same to the other.

“God, I love your tits,” he rasped once he pulled away. You were panting by now, ache and need pooling between your thighs. Your mouth opened in a broken moan as his hands slid lower…almost there…almost… his hands left your body.

He hummed, pleased with himself as you whined at the loss of contact. Bruce grabbed your ass and he swiftly spun you around and laid you out onto the bed. His strong hands held your thighs apart and he gazed at your core with a fire burning in his eyes.

“I love the pretty noises you make and how wet you get for me and how good you squeeze around my cock. Because you’re my best girl. So good for me. Perfect.”

He punctuated his sentence by flattening his tongue and licking a stripe up your cunt. One of his hands left your thigh and reached off to the side, but you were too busy thinking about the sheer heat that burned in your veins to question his actions until the small bullet vibration touched your clit and sent sparks through your fucking toes. You yelped, high and breathy as the vibrator dipped lower to sop up some of your juices and then returned back to your bundle of nerves.

“The best part is that only I get to hear those noises,” he praised. “Only I get to pull you apart and put you back together. I love you, Y/N, and I don’t say it enough.”

“Enough sappy bullshit,” you panted. “Stop being a fucking tease and let me come.”

You could feel his grin against the thin skin of your thigh as he plunged a finger into your weeping pussy. The thrust of his finger coupled with the constant vibration had waves of pleasure crashing over you in a matter of minutes. Bruce pressed a kiss stained with your juices against your thigh and then leaned his temple against your inner knee, gazing up at you.

“It’s easy to feel invisible when the world is focused on what they can see,” he said. “But what they don’t see is the person holding us all together.”

You blinked past the burning of tears in your eyes and flapped a dismissive hand at him. “Give me two more of those and then we can talk.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne smut #batman imagine #batman x reader #batman smut

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margalitarry · 2 years

Text

dorothea | c.b

~❦~❦~❦~❦~❦~❦~❦~

ooh, you're a queen

selling dreams

selling make up and magazines

ooh, from you i’d buy anything

colby brock x reader

warnings : depression, mentions of suicidal thoughts, mention of drugs (xanax)

word count : 1.4k

notes : i love writing emotional fics so much omg. inspired by taylor swifts song, dorothea. you and colby were best friends (aka both def crush on each other but whatevz) and you decide to pick up the unknown call

~❦~❦~❦~❦~❦~❦~❦~

colby scrolled through his instagram feed, feeling like every photo was you. last night had been the release of your highly anticipated album, and he had of course listened to it.

you and colby had met when he first moved to LA with sam. you were one of the first people he had met and you both immediately clicked. you easily fell into his patterns and hung out nearly everyday. you helped him and sam film videos for their channel, and he helped you with pursing a music career.

everything was fine until you had released your first album. it was incredibly successful, you had even won a grammy award. you began to travel not only all over america, but the world for interviews, tour, photo shoots, and everything else in between. it was an extremely difficult change and even more difficult to balance your relationships.

at first you insisted on calling colby at any and every moment you could. even if it was for a few minutes, talking to him helped your nerves. but as the months went on you had begun getting depressed, withdrawing yourself from not only colby but many of your other friends. you felt you only had time for your career, and if you weren’t asleep you always had something or somewhere to be.

colby was never mad at you for calling less and was extremely understanding. he just wanted you to be happy, and he believed that at that time you were happier with whatever you had been doing. he couldn’t deny one thing though; having to find out bits of your life through the news made him extremely sad.

it was almost 4 in the morning when you had gotten home from your release party, which you didn’t even want to go to. you had tried to leave multiple times but your manager insisted you should stay. you groaned when your phone began to ring, expecting your manager to update you on some statistic you couldn’t care about.

‘no caller id’

you didn’t know what came over you, because technically you weren’t supposed to pick up a call you didn’t know. especially without a caller id. it could be a fan who somehow got your number, but you picked it up.

“hello?” you said after picking up the call.

“hey hello? y/n?” an extremely familiar voice replied, letting your stomach drop at the thought of who it could be.

“colby brock? are you seriously calling me right now?” you asked, excitement and anxiety running through your voice.

“yeah, yeah it’s me! how are you doing? it’s been forever i feel like.”

“i’m okay, really tired right now. i just got to my hotel room after being out all night at the listening party for my album. how are you?”

“i’m good, your album is amazing by the way. sam and i listened to it when it dropped. are you in la?”

you almost felt guilty talking to him right now, it felt like nothing had happened and just like the years together before but something wasn’t right. it didn’t feel the same.

“no, i honestly wish. i’m in new york right now, i have a show at madison square garden tomorrow night.” you told him.

“oh damn! you’re just selling dreams and everything now. i’m really proud of you, holy shit!” colby exclaimed, he couldn’t believe you had picked up his call. but he could hear a dullness in your voice that wasn’t there before.

“thank you” you lightly laughed

“are you seriously doing okay though? you sound a little more than just tired y/n.” colby asked, not beating around the bush. if he felt something was wrong he wanted to know.

his question took you aback; although you expected him to say something along those lines. you didn’t know how to answer, because truthfully you didn’t know how you were feeling. you were filled with joy from the overwhelming support, but you desperately missed your old life.

“y/n? hello?” colby said, pulling you from your thoughts of your emotions.

“uh- yeah. i mean no, but it’s not like bad. it’s not amazing either- but- i don’t know really.” you answered, best you could.

“what’s up? just talk to me, you’re good.”

“i just really fucking miss my life before all of this, whenever i just sat and edited your guys’ videos for hours a day. when we were younger down at the parks. whenever we would be together all of the time. all of you even. obviously you more- but whatever i just miss it all.”

“i don’t want to live this life anymore” you whispered, focusing your eyes on a bottle of xanax for a spilt second.

colby felt a more of a relief than he did sympathy in that moment. you were finally opening up to him after almost a year and a half. but he also couldn't help feel helpless for you.

“i’m sorry, but there’s definitely a way to balance everything. i know you have so much going on, but you’ve gotta be able to take yourself back and out of certain situations. standing up for yourself” colby said, still in disbelief he was having this conversation.

"i know but it's just after my first album it's been absolutely nonstop, i haven't had longer than a day to just do nothing. i don't know when that's gonna end."

"you have more people who want to help you than those who want to see you fail. you cant keep these things hidden, it doesn't help anyone."

"i'm sorry" you said

"nothing that's happened to you is your fault, don't be sorry for your emotions. especially with me, we're way past that point."

you weren’t sure if that was something you needed to hear, or if it was just because colby was saying it, but it encouraged you to make a spur of the moment decision.

“what if you came to new york for my show tomorrow? if you have nothing going on obviously, i’d pay for everything. and if you want too.”

colby’s jaw dropped even though you couldn’t see it. he didn’t have anything going on for the next four days, and couldn’t have been more thankful not too.

“i have nothing going on the next four days actually”

“are you serious? please say you’ll come.”

“of course i will!”

you immediately opened you laptop and looked at flights from lax to jfk, your heart breathing through your chest.

“ do you think you can be ready in five hours?” you asked him, wanting to suddenly see him extremely badly.

“are you kidding? yeah i can be, definitely. whatever you want.”

as the word ‘yeah’ came out of his mouth you booked the tickets as fast as you could, sending him the email confirmation. you couldn’t really process what you had just done fully. you also didn’t realize it at the moment but you had still had his email perfectly memorized.

“i just sent you the email, i’m so excited fuck!”

“i’m really excited to see you y/n. i feel i’ve only seen you on screens the last year.”

colby saying that so nonchalantly made you more upset that you would've liked to feel, but it had almost been an hour since he first called and you were very tired.

“i’m gonna try to sleep before you come, i’ll text you in a few hours. actually wait- do you have a new cell? it showed up no caller id.”

“it’s the same as it’s always been, not sure why. but okay get some rest, i’ll see you soon.”

“see you soon” you said before hanging up the call.

you stood up and walked over to the counter that the bottle of xanax held, tearing up staring at the bottle. you proceeded to take them into the bathroom and flush them all down the toilet before going back to bed.

all you could think about was you fully laid down was how you were pretty sure colby had just saved your life.

colby couldn't have been more relieved as he called sam letting him know he'd be in new york for the weekend.

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ravewood · 3 years

Text

A Means to an End: pt 2

Juice Ortiz Imagine

pt1

masterlist

Waking up the morning, you rushed to get out the house as soon as possible before he would wake up. You felt like work was your escape. You just really hoped he wouldn’t be at your house once you got back home. You didn’t want to talk about last night. But guess Juice got the message, he didn’t come back. That was it.

You packed up all the things he had at your house, all the pictures you had with him, all the memories form the last 5 years. You couldn’t even find the guts to text him, you just dropped off the box at the clubhouse with Chucky.

Juice came back from a run beaten and bruised. Not one word from you all week. He never been in a serious relationship with anyone before you. Was this it for you guys? He wasn’t sure if it was a break up or not. Maybe another fight. He just wasn’t sure what he should do or allowed to do at this point.

Once he was back in his dorm he found a large box. It was filled with everything. All his clothes from your house. All the presents he’s ever gotten you. Even all the photos. That’s all it took to piss him off before he found himself storming to your front door.

“What?” You asked crossing your arms over your chest looking at Juice. You really weren’t expecting him to show up at your house. You haven’t heard from him since that night, now why would he need to say anything.

“What the fuck is up with the box?” Juice asked as you see the anger in his brown eyes.

“Your things. You told me to go find someone else life to make miserable. Sorry for bothering for the past 5 years.” You sassed knowing it was only going to make this situation a lot worse. Neither of you whiling to be the bigger person.

“Just because I don’t want to get fucken married?” He argued back.

“No it’s about you stringing me along for 5 years. You knew what I wanted and you just played me! Like what else we’re stuck. How is this relationship suppose to move forward when you aren’t making any steps to make a life with me!” You yelled back at him. You never ever fought like this before.

“ I didn’t-” Juice started to say but he really didn’t know what to say anymore.

“Bye Juice.” You mumbled rolling your eyes and closing the door in his face. Was this really it for you two? Did you really want to end it, 5 years for nothing.

It was hard without Juice. It was hard to figure out a routine on your own. Most of your time you spent working, or at the gym. Nothing from Juice. A week turned into a month, a month turned into a few months. Now everything felt numb almost like Juice never was in your life in the first place.

And you actually met someone. You weren’t out looking for someone, going on a date seemed far form reach. You told him all the shit but it seemed like you both where in the same boat of a failed relationship. and it was going good, he seemed more serious about you.

You where completely surprised when at dinner for he proposed. You thought about this moment with Juice, how it never happened. How numb you ended up being towards the idea it’d never happen.

The ring was huge, it was beautiful. He even was looking for a house to buy to get settled before getting married. All he wanted was for you to focus on choosing a date and planning a wedding. And that was the hardest part for you.

Everything you tried to plan you’d end up thinking about Juice. You always thought it’d be him. You couldn’t keep living in a fantasy about him. That’s how you found yourself at home, magazines spread across the floor. You ripped some picture out for ideas. Other your printed out hoping to find something similar. You where even sure what you liked anymore.

The door bell rang knocking you out of all your thoughts. You weren’t expecting your fiance back for another few days from his business trip. You opened the door only to have your heart stop.

“What are you doing here Juice?” You asked looking at the man who became a stranger. He looked just the same as that night. Nothing really changed about him these past months. He still had his silly mohawk, still has the Kutte.

“I- uh How are you?” He asked his brown eyes scanning me. As if they where searching for something, almost pleading.

“I’m okay. You?” You asked crossing your arms. This shouldn’t feel like this. It shouldn’t feel like a tone of bricks on your chest. You shouldn’t have your heart beating so hard at just the sight of him.

“Looks like your more then just fine Y/N.” Juice said his eyes locked on the diamond ring on your finger.

“Yeah I am.” You said not sure what to say. You weren’t even sure why this felt so wrong.

“It’s only been 7 months.” Juice said with a sigh. He wasn’t sure why he was even here anymore. He came to check on you, see how everything was. He was miserable without you. He never thought he’d show up and your happy, you’ve moved on from him so fast. Did you ever love him?

“What are you doing here?” You asked him. You felt like you where going to burst into tears but you weren’t sure form what.

“How’d you move on so fast?” He asked not being able to control his own emotions at this point.

“I di- I wasn’t planing to. It just happened with him.” You whispered not sure how to explain it. Maybe you haven’t moved on from Juice, the emotions, the strong feels you had for him couldn’t just go away. But you got better at pushing them to the side. You and Juice had so much history it was hard to just move on.

“Do you love him?” Juice asked, he knew he didn’t really want to know the answer to that.

“He makes me happy.” Was all that you could say. You couldn't admit you loved another man to the man you’ve loved desperately for years.

“Why are you going to marry him if you don’t love him?” He asked his voice slightly raising. There was a fire behind his warm brown eyes that you haven’t seen in such a long time.

“It’s not about that. We’re both on the same page, we want the same things. He makes me feel safe and loved.” You said trying to explain it.

“That’s it?” Juice asked was plea and desperation in his voice. You have never heard him so broken before.

“That’s it.” You said as he shook his head mumbling things under his breath. And just like that he was gone. All you could hear was the harley roaring down the street. part of you begged for him to stay but another part of you knew he couldn’t.

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secretkeeper13 · 3 years

Text

Wannabe

Summary: The Sixth Year Gryffindor boys discover the Spice Girls, but Harry only wants to be Ginny’s lover.

Yes, you read that right. This fluffy, kind-of-crack HBP missing moment was born from a conversation in the Hinny Discord (and my 90s tween years).

Content warning: If you aren’t into wank jokes, teenage boys shamelessly ogling pop icons, unfiltered Ron, and don’t agree that Sporty was the least attractive Spice Girl (apologies, Mel C), then this may not be the fic for you ;)

Since historical accuracy is paramount to this story (sarcasm), the magazine referenced in the fic is the March 1997 issue of The Face. Google it if you want to see the cover and photos (you know you want to).

Thank you @thedistantdusk, beta supreme, for editing and always encouraging my ridiculousness ;) Happy Thursday!

Read it below the cut, or on Ao3.

Harry flopped onto his bed, tired but pleased with how well the team was flying. At this rate, they’d have a fighting chance to win the cup against Ravenclaw, especially now that Katie was back. It’d been their best practice yet, although he’d been repeatedly distracted by Ginny, laughing at her antics, admiring the way her eyes blazed with determination just before she scored a goal, trying not to stare at her arse as she bent low over her broomstick.

“What’s that?” Ron said, jolting Harry from his thoughts.

Ron looked across the dormitory at Seamus, who sat on his bed staring intently at a magazine with Dean looking over his shoulder.

“See for yourself, mate.” Seamus smirked, holding up the magazine to reveal the cover, a Muggle photograph of five girls, all scantily clad in lingerie and extremely fit.

Harry sat up immediately for a better look. Even Neville, from his bed next to Harry’s, had his eyes glued to the cover.

Ron let out a low whistle. “Where’d you get that?” he asked, clamoring across the room to stand next to Seamus for a better look.

“Took it from my little sister over Easter hols and brought it back for Seamus,” Dean said, grinning. “Thought he’d appreciate it.”

“What’s your little sister doing with something like this?”

“Not what you’ll be doing with it later, that’s for sure,” Seamus said, making a rude hand gesture. Ron flipped him off as the rest of them laughed.

“They’re the Spice Girls,” Dean explained. “A Muggle singing group. All the girls are obsessed with them right now. Girl Power, you know?”

Harry didn’t know, but he decided he would very much like to find out as he walked over for a closer look.

“Fuck, they’re fit,” Ron said, looking over Seamus’ shoulder at the cover of the magazine.

Harry had to agree. There was a perky, smiling blonde, two brunettes in the middle with dark, shiny hair and sultry gazes, a redhead with great tits next to them, and a pretty girl with wild curls and tanned skin posed seated at their feet.

“And this is just the cover, wait ‘til you see the photos inside.” Seamus said, waggling an eyebrow.

“They’re everywhere right now- can’t turn on the radio without hearing their songs- they’re all over the telly too,” Dean said, as the rest of them continued to stare at the cover. “They go by nicknames, and the girls all have favorites.”

Dean pointed to the blonde. “This one’s Baby, there’s Sporty on her other side. The redhead is Ginger-“

“Original, that one,” Harry said dryly, and the others laughed.

Dean continued as the laughter subsided. “The one next to her with that stuck up look is Posh, and the one sitting down is Scary- she’s my sister’s favorite. I’m with her on that one.” He finished with a wink.

“Reckon Scary’s my favorite too,” Seamus said, his tone thick with bravado.

“No way,” Ron said, indignant, “that Posh one, she’s the fittest. Look at her legs.”

“Nah, she’s a bit too high and mighty. She looks like she’d always be telling you what to do,” Dean said.

“Just Ron’s type then,” Seamus quipped.

Dean and Seamus roared with laughter. Out of loyalty, Harry tried (but failed) to suppress his own laughter, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Oh, fuck off,” Ron replied, the tips of his ears red.

“What’s The Chosen One’s choice?” Seamus asked, turning to Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’d go with Ginger.”

“Oooooh, Harry picks the redhead,” Seamus said, eyebrow raised, exchanging a pointed look with Dean.

“Got a thing for gingers, do you then?”

Shit. Panic that his casual admission might reveal his most private, fiercely-guarded feelings about Ginny began to overtake him.

“Didn’t pick her for her hair color, mate,” Harry retorted, trying to sound flippant, as he gestured to her tits.

Seamus laughed and slapped Harry’s shoulder. Harry breathed a small sigh of relief, hoping that he hadn’t just made the fact that he fancied Ginny completely obvious. In truth, the girl did remind him a bit of Ginny- not just her hair color, but her build too, and something about the way she carried herself in the photo. He tried not to blush, though heat rushed to his cheeks. He stole a glance at Ron who, thankfully, was still gaping at the magazine and not paying attention to the exchange.

“What’s your vote, then, Nev?” Seamus asked.

Neville, standing next to Harry, his cheeks already pink, looked startled to be included. “Erm, she looks nice,” he said softly, motioning towards the blonde, “but they’re all good looking, really,” he added, his round face now flaming scarlet.

“Nobody for Sporty then?” Dean asked, laughing.

“Nah, who's picking Sporty over any of those four?” Ron said bluntly. “Let’s see what’s inside, then.”

The photo spread inside the magazine did not disappoint, Harry thought, taking in the individual, full body photos of each girl in very suggestive poses.

“Damn,” Ron said appreciatively.

“Told you it was good.”

The dormitory grew quiet for a moment as Seamus flipped through the pages.

“Wait,” said Ron, pointing to a line in the article, “This says the lyrics to their hit song are ‘If you wannabe my lover, you gotta get with my friends.’ Really?”

“Are you actually reading the article, mate? That’s impressive,” Harry said wryly.

“It’s true- heard it a million times over Easter break, that bloody song’s on the radio every other minute,” Dean replied.

“Well, it’s fucking terrible advice. What girl wants you getting with her friends?” Ron said.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

“Ron,” a voice called. Harry realized instantly that it was Ginny.

Fuck. Seamus shoved the magazine under the duvet as the rest of them scrambled to disperse, Neville tripping over his own feet, Ron hitting his head on the top of the bedpost as he ducked to sit on his bed.

“Come in,” Ron called.

Ginny opened the door and leaned on the side of the doorframe. She looked unfairly beautiful, Harry thought, her cheeks still rosy from practice, her long hair loose and flowing down her back, ending just above the swell of her arse, which looked fantastic in her tight joggers.

Her eyes narrowed as she took in the scene. The five of them had each ended up on their respective beds, fully dressed, shoes and all, with no books or parchment in sight. It must’ve looked strange.

She quirked an eyebrow. “You five having a cosy little chat?”

Neville chuckled nervously. Seamus coughed. Ron’s ears turned red. Dean stared at the duvet, determined to avoid her gaze, probably for a variety of reasons, Harry thought.

Ginny shook her head slightly. “Never mind, I’m sure I don’t even want to know,” she said, grinning at Harry. His cheeks grew warm, and he gave a slight shrug back.

She turned to Ron, her tone more serious. “Hermione asked me to get you. The Second Years were playing Exploding Snap at a table in the common room, and the explosion blew up some inkwells. There’s ink all over everything. She needs your help cleaning off the boys. Euan Abercrombie’s covered head to toe in it.”

“Little idiots,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. He stood and walked past Ginny onto the spiral staircase.

“Great practice, Harry,” Ginny said. She beamed at him, her smile brilliant, and in that moment, he wished, more than anything, that they were alone in the dormitory, instead of awkwardly surrounded by her (very recent) ex, Seamus, and Neville.

“You too. We’re going to flatten them,” he managed, hoping he didn’t sound like his breath was caught in his throat, which it was.

She just winked back. His heart, already fluttering faster than the wings of a snitch, skipped a beat. “Night all,” she said, with a wave to Neville.

As she closed the door, Harry sank back onto his pillows, thinking only of Ginny, the magazine long forgotten.

#hinny #hinny fanfic #hbp missing moment #sort of crack #fluff #spice up your life #unfiltered ron weasley

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charlie-rulerofhell · 3 years

Text

For they know exactly what they do

Today there was a pretty long article published in the German newspaper FAZ, written by Julia Schaaf. Since there were quite a few interesting topics raised in it and Måneskin talked about some new aspects (or in more detail), I translated the whole thing (it might also have helped me to procrastinate).

Full interview in English under the cut.

For they know exactly what they do

June 22, 2021

Four young rock musicians from Rome are today's hottest band. Måneskin are enchanting Europe. Why? We met them for an interview.

Every romance needs its founding myth, an anecdote from the beginning, something you can tell later in more difficult times for self-assurance.

In the case of the band Måneskin, who first had Italy and now half of Europe wrapped around their fingers, and who are now trying to conquer the rest of the world with their rock music, there is the story of the shoe box. Rome, around five years ago: Four teenagers who are meeting every day after school in their rehearsal room to make music together, and sometimes they play their songs on the Via del Corso in the city centre in front of a changing audience. One day they want to record their own stuff. They find a studio that they can actually afford and as they go there they bring a shoe box, with the name of the band written on it, 'moonshine' in Danish, the bassist's mother is Danish. In the box: around seven kilogram of coins. The things you get from playing music on the streets. Everyone searching through Instagram for photos from that time can find four hippies with children's faces, three boys in batik, the girl is wearing a straw hat.

As they have to pay [for the recording], frontman Damiano David, 22, says that there was this guy, Angelo, and his bandmate Victoria De Angelis, 21, is interrupting: “No, Andrea, not Angelo”, and all of them have to laugh because a rigid studio manager with the Italian name 'angel' would be even funnier for a founding myth. David continues his story: “The guy was completely dumbfounded. 'We can't do that.' We went: 'Sure we can, that's worth the same even if it's just 20 cent coins, it's still 300 euros.” Thomas Raggi, 20, the guitarist of the band, is gasping for air as he laughs, while drummer Ethan Torchio, 20, is smiling dreamily. David finishes: “And then we snuck off before he was able to count it.” [the German text says 'verdrücken' here which is just a colloquial way of saying 'we left', but it entails some sort of a dramatic exit, so yeah, let your thoughts get creative how they left exactly :D].

Four young musicians on the verge of global fame are sitting on a white interview sofa in Berlin, completely styled, babbling across each other like overeager teenagers.

Ever since the Roman band first won the music festival Sanremo and then also the Eurovision Song Contest, carried by the enthusiasm of European viewers, you could say Måneskin has become a phenomenon. “Rock 'n' Roll never dies!”, Damiano David yelled fueled by the adrenaline of winning, and the insinuation that circulated on social media of the singer snorting during the counting of votes in front of a live camera – including their strict denial followed by a negative drug test result – might have given an additional boost to their public interest, their exploding album, ticket and merch sales, and their outstanding success on Spotify.

“We think it's a shit prejudice against rock music that there always have to be drugs involved. We fully threw ourselves into our participation with the utmost professionalism. We give everything for the music. So of course we don't want people to think that we can only do that because we take drugs.” – Victoria De Angelis

Prior to Eurovision, Måneskin was more of an insider's tip outside of Italy. Handmade rock music, not creating something entirely new but paying homage to the good old times with classic guitar riffs and cracking drum beats, being a lot of fun but also quite fragile and vulnerable at times and, first and foremost, conveying a captivating energy. Finally, on the stage of Rotterdam, live after so many months of isolation and renunciation, this wave of energy spilled straight over into European living rooms. It seemed easy to (mistakenly) interpret the winning song “Zitti e buoni” (Shut up and behave) as a declaration of frustration of our youth in times of a pandemic. In fact, singer Damiano David is singing about the favourite topic of the band: the unrelenting need to, against all odds, be yourself, despite or perhaps because you are different. The message fits their provocative sex appeal, which the band uses to demonstrate their independence of gender norms at any given time. But the core essence of rock music has always been the promise of unlimited freedom.

Thus at the first moment, the meeting with Måneskin is kind of startling. It's Wednesday, we are in the top floor of the new Sony head quarters in Berlin. The four Italians have just started their two-week long promotion tour through Europe. In the afternoon there will be a live concert in a queer club [the SchwuZ, but that's not mentioned here] in Neukölln, which will be streamed via TikTok. Around one million viewers will watch the show, some of them even from Brazil, so people at Sony are pretty excited [for Måneskin to come here]. But at first, these stunningly gorgeous creatures [yes, that's the exact wording :D] are standing surrounded by an entourage of people – their management, PR team, a stylist, a photographer, people who can hold a smartphone or a cigarette if needed [this paragraph is worded a little weirdly, especially taking into account that basically their whole team / 'entourage' is just friends of them, but it seems like the journalist didn't know that or maybe they just wanted to describe their first impression]. They seem like fictional / artificial characters out of a Hollywood movie. Transparent frill blouses with blazers and flared leather trousers, even the platform boots, everything brand-new, the makeup makes their faces look like a glossy magazine cover even in person. The smokey eyes of De Angelis and Raggi make them look smug and bored. Later, on the pictures it will probably look cool.

So of course your first impression might be: This band is under contract to industry giant Sony ever since their success on an Italian casting show [X Factor] in Winter 2017. The music industry must have its hand in the game when a band is photographed half-naked by Oliviero Toscani and styled by Etro. Also, one does not simply rent a villa with a pool in Rome to produce new music there, isolated from the rest of the world. And who else went to London for two whole months, shortly before the winter lockdown, just for inspiration? After the TikTok concert in Berlin – De Angelis and David are now wearing fishnet shirts that sparkle with every move, their bare nipples covered with an X of black tape – the band is posing with a few influencers. In the world of social media you would call that 'producing content'. But what does that mean for a band who are preaching their hosanna of authenticity? How authentic is Måneskin? And is their pointedly casual approach to sexuality and gender cliches in today's pop-cultural spirit more than a marketing strategy?

We're in the interview, the recording device is running for not even five minutes, when Victoria De Angelis says: “Actually, we just try to be ourselves and do what we really want to do.” And really: The more you listen to those four how they speak about the early days of the band in their slurred Roman dialect, about the shoe box and their own experiences with being different, but most importantly about their shared obsession [with music], the more you realise that [De Angelis] is very serious. Ethan Torchio, who got his first drum kit at the age of six or seven from his father because he was beating everything he could reach, says: “For me, music is like food. I cannot live without it.” The bassist next to him laughs at his pathos. Singer Damiano David applauds the otherwise more reserved friend for his truthfulness [it says 'klarer Punkt', meaning 'for the point he makes', but it makes it seem like Damiano is agreeing with Ethan here, although it doesn't indicate whether he agrees that yes, music is everything for Ethan or that he understands and feels the same].

De Angelis and guitarist Raggi already knew each other from middle school and they were the ones who tried to form a band at the age of only 13, a band that actually took music seriously.

De Angelis: “It's just difficult at that age to find other people who really put everything into music and who truly commit themselves and are willing to invest a lot of their time.”

Raggi: “We set strict rules and scheduled fixed times for the rehearsals, for every day.”

David: “Fever, stomach ache, there was no excuse. Even if you were feeling sick in the rehearsal room. At least you were in the rehearsal room.”

The way the four of them talk across each other, completing each other's sentences, taking turns in talking and sometimes joking about each other, seems intimate and playful. Singer David remembers how at first bassist [De Angelis] was merciless towards him when it came to her first metal band project, as she told him that he wasn't committed enough [to the music]: “Back then I was still playing Basketball. I was one of the people that Vic absolutely didn't want [in her band].” Drummer Torchio was later discovered through Facebook, even though there had already been a drummer, a close friend, but he was not good enough. It seems as if even back then music was everything for them. Even if it meant that only Raggi managed to graduate.

And why rock, why rock music of all things? Because it's great, the four of them say in unison. David adds: “Actually, it's a genre that allows you to do everything you want to do.”

When they played on the street, they were laughed at by their classmates. But not only there. De Angelis explains that she never wanted to be a typical girl: “I was always deterred by those stupid boxes that people put you in, and that are just restricting and constraining you, because something is only regarded as male or female. I always rejected that. Instead, I just wanted to do the things I enjoyed doing, I went skating and played football.” Torchio says: “Friends who are not friends anymore were already telling me at the age of ten that those“ – he grabs his long, silky black hair – “were wrong. Because I'm a boy and boys are meant to have short hair, long hair is only for girls. I was bullied a lot for that.”

“Compared to the past, people in our age became much more open-minded. It gets better.” – Thomas Raggi

Frontman David on the other hand, for whom eye shadow, jingling earrings and nail polish as well as his bare torso with the tattoos have become trademarks by now, says: “I was actually more of the average boy.” De Angelis convinced him to try out some eyeliner, which he describes as a spiritual awakening: “I liked myself much more [with makeup]. I saw myself more as myself. As if it had been a suppressed desire of mine.” On a trip to Copenhagen with the others, when he realised that it really didn't matter what people were thinking about him, he got his first fake fur [coat? the article doesn't specify that] in a second-hand shop and let his clothing style be guided by his own love to experiment: “I realised that my whole life I was just going at half speed.” When it comes to diversity all four of them are becoming almost missionary.

At the same time, their success is not only opening doors for them. Back home in Rome they are barely able to go out on the street due to all the paparazzi. “[You need a] hoodie and huge sunglasses”, David says, “the mask is quite helpful, too.” And still, none of them is complaining, and Torchio explains why: “Even if those experiences right now may have sides that are not so pleasant, we still know that for us a dream is coming true. We experience something that we always had in our minds, so we are willing to face every consequence that this entails.”

So is the band facing difficult times, is Måneskin going to change with all the success? Again, all of them answer at the same time.

David: “I'm not worried about that.”

Raggi: “No way!”

De Angelis: “On the contrary. Everything that happened to us happened because we are who we are, so we want to continue the exact same way and stay ourselves.”

Just a few hours later, they are at the stage in Neukölln, bouncing around like pinballs, hammering at their instruments, flirting with each other. “We are out of our minds, but different from the others”, David sings their winning hymn against conformism, and: “The people talk, unfortunately they talk.” Here on stage, the four paradise birds [a German word describing someone with a flamboyant personality] with their half-nude-glittering outfits are radiating an incredible energy with the utmost sincerity, and you begin to wish there was a live audience instead of the TikTok cameras, absorbing and spreading this energy. Måneskin. A cry for a life after the pandemic, a cry for freedom and a better world.

“We do what we wished for all our lives.” – Ethan Torchio

#måneskin #maneskin #måneskin interview #my stuff #i'm sorry if someone already translated it but i was working on this for the past 3 hours now so i'm still gonna share it #i know most of it is not very new but there were some quite interesting details in there #and it's just always great to read about those four dorks so i wanted to share it with all of you who wanted to read it but couldn't #enjoy and please ignore any possible mistakes i didn't have the time to proof-check everything

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thinger-strang · 3 years

Text

okay okay centerfold au (like....the song by the j geils band) where billy mas moved out and away from hawkins (he hasnt quite made it to california yet, hes not ready) and hes starting to let himself be gay and think gay thoughts and ya know indulge himself every so often

which obviously means he picks up a magazine from the back corner of the corner store he frequents

he does for something a little tamer, maybe throws in a few playboys just because hes nervous (which doesnt even matter because the cashier doesnt even spare the covers a glance once scanned)

gets home and eagerly flips through it, feeling excited that he can have gay porn out in the open in his living room without fearing for his life

hes mostly just idly looking through it, folding down a few corners of pages he'll revisit when hes in the mood, just kinda reveling in the freedom of it

until

he flips to the centerfold, the showcase, the main event and it's–

"steve?"

billy fucking drops the entire magazine, it lays open, teasing billy with those big brown eyes and tantalizing moles

its a good shot honestly, pretty tasteful, definitely not modest, but billy can appreciate the artful quality

of course not in this moment, in this moment billy is panicking?

who the hell told steve harrington he was allowed to do that?

billy finds himself staring at the photo; steve as the centerpiece, draped across several laps, being groped by way too many hands for billy's liking, steve's got a half hard cock in one hand, the other possessively wrapped around the thigh of a man standing next to him, everyone's sweaty and there's splatters of something all over everyone, and there's hard and soft dicks and muscular legs and soft bellies and flexing muscles but only one face

steve stares at the camera–at billy–with an enticing stare that seems to ask "what are you waiting for?" and the barest hint of a tongue pokes out–

billy cant look away but wants to tear his gaze away to anything else, he wants to memorize the page, he wants to burn it, he wants to frame it, he wishes it never existed, he wants to be in that room

billy thought he was over this silly crush on straight boy steve but heres he is, gripping another man's cock, letting another man's cock rest on his leg, letting other men hold him and touch him

it might be fine if billy hadn't seen steve in years, hadn't seen steve since he left that fucking hellhole behind but no, no!

steve harrington, the man who happened to be the centerfold of the one single gay magazine billy happened to pick up, was his upstairs neighbor

///

billy stares at the ground as he stops to get his mail, hoping, praying, that he'll be lucky and not run into anyone on his way home

prayers not answered

"hey billy, i haven't seen you in a while, you doin' okay?" steve asks cheerfully as he wiggles his own mailbox open.

"yup, doing just fine, thanks for asking" billy slams his box shut and hurries to the elevator without running and jabs the close door button a hundred million times

"woah hang on, hold the door!" steve calls after him, juggling his mail and his groceries that billy somehow didn't notice

steve makes it

fuck

steve's blabbering on about.... something, billy can't hear a word he's saying, he focusing on thinking about anything other than–

sweaty

magazine

dick

nude

moles

dick

billy is begging for any thought, anything, to cross his mind, anything but that stupid centerfold

"hey are you sure you're okay?" steve asks in a far too nice voice

"i told you i'm fine, please just leave me alone?" billy grits out

"i thought we were past all that" steve says in a sad voice

billy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose

"we are, i'm just having an off day, got this killer headache ya know?" he lies through his teeth

"oh okay, gotcha, i'll be quiet" steve mimes zipping up his mouth

why is that worse why is that hot?

it's billy's floor and he can't get into his apartment fast enough

pulls out his dick and jerks it a few times before cumming right there in his kitchen floor

///

things don't get better

at all

billy avoids steve like the plague, which it wasn't like hung out on the regular, but theyd chit chat in the elevator or say hi when passing each other

so it was just awkward when billy would see steve in the hallway and immediately turn the other way

so it's not that surprising to wake up on a saturday morning to angry pounding on his door

"i'm coming, i'm coming, hold your fucking horses" billy grumbles as he pulls on a shirt and walks to the door

yanks it open to find a grumpy steve with his hands on his hips

"what gives hargrove? you said we were fine yet avoid me any time we so much as make eye contact? did i do something?"

billy has not had enough sleep to handle this conversation

"no you didn't do anything, it's kinda hard to explain just–" billy opens up his door to invite steve in

steve shoulders past billy and plops onto the couch

"coffee?" billy asks as he rubs his eyes

"im good" steve bites out

great

billy rolls his eyes and gets busy making himself a pot, trying to figure out how to say this, what to even say that would make this remotely okay

"oh my god" steve gasps

"what?" billy groans

he turns around and sees steve holding the magazine, clutching it really, something close to horror drawn all over his face

billy left it out on the coffee table as some sort of sick twisted 'fuck you' to neil

"shit shit SHIT i can explain–"

"no no i get it, um... i think i'm going to go, just... yeah i'm sorry i'll just–"

and with that steve was gone

///

this is worse, so so so very much worse

they either need to talk about it or billy needs to fucking find a new apartment

billy comes home after a long day at work to find steve knocking at his door

"hey–"

"jesus christ you scared me!" steve jumps into the wall

"sorry i kinda... snuck up on you, what are you doing at my door?" billy adjusts his backpack

"i, um... i wanted to explain? or talk? i get why you were avoiding me, i honestly forgot that came out this month" steve is twelve shades of the prettiest blush billy has ever seen

"hang on, let's go inside, i don't really wanna talk about this in the hallway"

steve's shoulders relax and he pressed himself into the wall to let billy open his door

steve sits awkwardly on the couch as billy hang up his bag and jacket and starts taking off his boots

"i... don't really know where to start" steve chews on his bottom lip and fidgits with his fingers

"i'm gay" billy blurts out

"what?" steve laughs

"i mean, i have a gay porn magazine, you're all nervous, i figured i'd break the ice?" billy shrugs

steve laughs and looks ten times lighter

"those pictures are older, i did them to help pay some bills while i was inbetween jobs, it was for a smaller thing, a blog or something, i dunno, it payed good so i said yes, i was desperate"

steve tuns his hands through his hair and breathes

"the guy who took the pictures asked if i'd be okay with him selling them to a bigger magazine, he said i'd get half the profits so i said yes"

steve shrugs and looks out the window

"so you just... did it for the money?" billy asks

"yes and no, i'm gay–well not gay, i'm bi but i'm... into dudes and all that, but mostly just to pay the bills"

steve finally meets billy's gaze with an almost scared look but more of a 'what are you gunna do about it' look

a lot like the one in the magazine

"that's cool, pretty brave too" billy says casually and leans back into his chair

"yeah... i'm kinda scared my job is going to find out that my dick is all over a magazine" steve laughs nervously

"you'll be fine, if it helps, you'd make a killing as a porno model"

billy grins wickedly in steve's direction

steve tries to smile back but it turns into a grimace

"i don't think it's weird, by the way... and while i don't think my crush on you from high school has quite gone away, i'm not going to like, make a move ot try to do anything" billy nudges steve's toe with his own

"okay" steve smiles for real this time

"okay" billy smiles back

"you really had a crush on me in high school?" steve smirks

"oh god, yeah, it was so bad, i didn't know what to do so i was just... an ass!" billy laughs

steve laughs along too and it's just comfortable, more comfortable than they've been ever

"do you wanna go get dinner?" steve smiles lopsidedly

"what!"

"like a date, do you want to go on a date with me?"

"it won't be weird?" billy asks earnestly

"not unless you make it weird"

billy grins and stands

"then let's go on a date!" he hold out his hand an hauls steve up

///

they're walking in comfortable silence, bumping into each other's shoulders, trying to make the other drop their left over box

they get to billy's door and kean against it, very much in each other's space

"you wanna know a secret?" steve asks with a mischievous glint in his eye

"sure"

"i had a crush on you in high school too" steve smiles and rests his forehead against billy's

"oh yeah!" billy leans into steve's touch, their noses bumping

"hell yeah" steve closes the distance and presses a soft kiss into billy's lips

#!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!????!!!!#harringrove #fic #my writings #lemons #yes but no but also yes #dont know where this came from GOOD NIGHT

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secondhand-trash · 3 years

Text

Haikyuu boyfriends and how well they do as your personal photographer

Bless their souls but it amazes you how they manage to look at the screen and think “yeah that’s seems alright ”

Ushijima — he genuinely thinks you look good in every pic and that’s sweet but that’s exactly where the issue is. The way he takes a pic from a angle that looks like your legs were cut in half length wise and your eyes were like a dead fish but still thinks you look gorgeous stunning beautiful meant you would not get a pretty picture from the regular public’s standard anytime sooner.

Kageyama — his idea of what “help me take a picture” means is way more simple than what you had meant for it to be. You stand there, he presses the button, that should be it. He doesn’t get why people spend so much time looking for angles, or fixing exposures. It’s a picture????? It goes “click” and that’s it right??? He spends no time looking for a nice angle or even wait for you to pose, resulting in a lot of pics that are out of focused😌

Iwaizumi — he is an “awkwardly flex and puff his chest out while locking his jaw” type of guy himself, he tries but he really has no idea what is flattering and what is not. The grid references confuses him and he gets even more tensed when you try to give him instructions. Somehow always manages to take the picture when you’re blinking or making some sort of weird faces because you felt something on your face.

Not a natural, but they’ll go the extra mile just so you can have your pretty pics for insta

Nishinoya — he goes the extreme for your pics. If you ask him to crouch down to get your best angle, you bet he is gonna get so low on the ground until his arms are near touching the concrete just to give you that long✨leg✨effect✨. If you are an awkward poser or felt uncomfortable when you pose, he’s gonna go out of his way to run around behind to camera to catch your attention so you can have the most natural posture and the best smile.

Tanaka — he belonged to the last category when he was just starting out but then he sees the way you just didn’t post because you thought you didn’t look nice in any of the pics and he was just like “nah fuck that I’m gonna get good at this for your feed”. Follows so many of those “photo hacks”/“posing tips” accounts just so he can help you take nicer pics, now he’s a pro👏🏼

Bokuto — he has no idea what the hell he’s sounds and what he’s supposed to do but he has hella patience when it comes to doing things for you. As long as you look like you’re enjoying yourself and he seems like he’s doing good, he’s all game for taking 1528126826 pictures of you in the same spot with the same pose just to get that (1) perfect picture.

Mediocre photographer, editing KING

Suna — he gets very familiar with the photoshop settings from trying to make memes and stickers packs to clown the twins. The absolute GOD in terms of helping you remove people that got into your frame and making it look seamless. Probably has vsco and those camera apps that tries to make your pics look like they are taken with Polaroids on his phone.

Miya (Atsumu) — he learnt his lesson the hard way after getting clowned by his brother (and later vball teammates) for having wiggly bricks and crooked fences at the back of his pics because he tried to make his waist look smaller and legs longer🥲if you took a pic where you look really hot but “wow my hair doesn’t look fluffy enough” he can probably give you a free perm just by using facetune.

Kozume — he just... he just knows what he’s doing. He has very little patience during the photo taking process, but if you told him there’s a pic you like but you didn’t like this or that he would silently fix all those things and send it back to your without you even asking him to.

Today’s mvp, you should pay them just for how nice your feed got

Oikawa — he seems like the annoying type when he’s the one asking people to take his pics so in returns, he also knows what to do to get the best outcome. He knows all the tricks, all the hacks, the best pose that goes best according to what you want people to pay attention to. He probably has his pick of Instagram filters, one of them is probably that one with the sparkly effect. (But it comes with a cost because the amount of effort he put in for you, he expects you to do the same for him😌)

Akaashi — he just seems like he knows his shit LMAO he probably won’t make you look like an Instagram model but you’re gonna get very aesthetic artsy pics. Super good at finding hidden locations in places where everyone is crowding around that (1) visually pleasing spot and you couldn’t get pictures there without a seat of people at the back. He makes you look like a French art film star and I just think that sounds pretty nice😌

Yachi — not an hq boyfriend, she’s an hq girlfriend BUT THIS GIRL KNOWS WHAT SHES DOING. She works with graphic design right so she knows what proportions and what props to use to get the most balanced structure. She’s gonna make you your own magazine cover if you ask her to. She has a lot of experience with trying to make herself look taller in pics so if that’s what you want, she can make your legs look at least a good several inches longer 😌

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu headcanons

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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years

Text

Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 1 | Living Well is the Best Revenge or Just Trip Her on the Red Carpet

A/N: Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed). It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will. Keep your hate to yourself.

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt. Tom has an idea to solve all their problems. Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts. Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else. In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Tom is in Vegas to present at a music awards ceremony and what do you know his high profile ex girlfriend is nominated for two awards. And the press are having a field day. Molly Bishop is grateful for the awards show because it means extra tips and getting her closer to paying off her student debt. An offhand comment by Luke coupled with an encounter with his old girlfriend has Tom’s mental wheels turning. Perhaps he and Molly can solve each other’s problem. All they have to do is get married.

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of: child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED! THANK YOU FOR READING!

Tom dreaded turning his phone back on when the plane landed at McCarran airport. He knew what waited for him on the other side. Tom wondered if his publicist would buy the story he left his phone back at the bar in Heathrow. Probably not, he had tried that earlier in the year and Luke went ballistic until he came clean. He did not want a repeat of the earful he got back then. With a sigh, Tom switched on his mobile and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, vibrating as messages and emails came in.

Tom never imagined the relationship would end like this. He thought he was in love. He thought she was in love. But it had all been what were the words she used “escape hatch”. Tom had been a means to an end. And the punishment for his naivete was a news cycle that would not die. And that photo.

He waited until he was in the car on his way to the Bellagio before checking his messages. There were a series of several text messages from Luke.

Call me when you get to your hotel room.

Don’t read the papers.

Don’t talk to any reporters.

Don’t do anything until you talk to me.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his sunglasses.

“Fuck!” he hissed under his breath.

This meant only one thing. Another story. Maybe more pictures. He shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she was attending the same awards show. It ventured to guess the papers would play that up. Tom slumped against the car seat for the rest of the ride.

Check in went fine at the VIP check in. One perk of not only being a celebrity, but a presenter at the awards show. The bellhop delivered Tom’s luggage and garment bag. He pulled the outfit for tomorrow and hung it up, just like Illaria told him to. It was only when he flopped onto the sectional couch, Tom called Luke.

“I’ve been waiting for your phone call.” Luke deadpanned. “I started to worry you would pull that ‘I left my phone at the airport bar’ story.”

“I did cross my mind.” Tom let his head hit the back of the sofa. “Do I want to know?”

“Not really.” Luke winced. “They used the photo again.”

“Of course they fucking did!” Tom punched a nearby pillow. “I look like a twat. Luke, I need this to stop.”

Luke sighed. “Until something comes along that is better than this, expect it to hang around for a while. Unless you are planning on getting married in the next two days.”

Tom chuckled darkly. “Not bloody likely.” He sighed again. “Thanks for everything Luke.”

“It’s my job, mate. But you’re welcome.”

After Tom hung up, he stared first at the phone in his hand and then at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how he got here, and he sure as hell didn’t know how to get out. Tom decided instead to wallow in self-pity and eat a ridiculously expensive room service steak.

Weekends were always busy when there were special events over at the MGM arena. This weekend was no exception. And while it may not be good for Molly’s back, her bank account greeted every penny with a smile. Vegas may be a cheap place to live, but it still costs money. And her college did not accept IOUs for student loans. She shoved more tips into the jar behind the bar and helped the next person.

“What’ll be?”

“Whatever you have that is strong and on tap.” Tom’s smooth voice cut over the din of slot machines and video poker machines.

“Coming right up.” Molly poured him a beer, and he signed the receipt with his room number before sliding to the end of the bar.

Three hours later, Tom still sat at the end of the bar, nursing the same beer. Most of the crowd dissipated at this point. Celebrities needed their beauty sleep. Or at least most of them.

“Would you like to switch that one out for a cold one?” She leaned over, smiling. “On the house.”

“Sorry.” Tom blinked and glanced around, looking for a clock Molly imagined.

“No clocks.” she commented. “Or windows.”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “Really?”

“The whole point of casinos is to keep people inside. Clocks and windows help people realize how much time has passed.” Molly replaced his beer. “The whole place is set up like a maze.”

Tom took a long draw of the fresh beer. “You seem to know an awful lot about casinos for a bartender.”

“You seem awfully forward for a movie star.” she snapped back. Tom’s eyes met yours. She shrugged her shoulders. “I have a friend who works at Regal Cinema, they let me in for free.”

“I’m having a bad day.” Tom muttered back. “You still didn’t answer the question.” He took another long draw, leaving the glass half empty.

“Oh, so we are adding pushy to your resume. I thought Brits were supposed to be charming. If you must know, I have a Bachelor’s and Master’s in Tourism from Arizona State.”

Tom opened his mouth to comment, but Molly cut him off.

“Funny thing about the tourism industry. You need experience to get a job, but you can’t get experience without having a job. Classic catch-22. Which does not pay my bills. So I bartend until I get hired somewhere.”

Tom felt like a prize idiot moping about his problems. He cleared his throat. “Apologies for my earlier behavior. I have been in a poor mood for the last several weeks and it has made me a terrible companion and customer.”

Molly smiled at him. The first truly friendly face in a while. “It’s fine. And you are entitled to a bad day.” She filled up his glass. “Once or twice. Share your troubles with me. Unless it is about which supermodel you should date next, then I don’t want to hear it.” she joked. Tom’s face fell. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

Tom held up a hand. “Please don’t apologize. I take it you don’t read the magazines.”

“As a matter of course, no I don’t.” Suddenly a lightbulb went off. “Oh…”

Tom twisted his face into an exaggerated expression. “‘Oh’ is right. Usually followed by the words ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’.”

“And is she…”

Tom drained the glass. “Yep. Nominated for two awards.”

“Yikes! Well, if there is anything I can do, I am here all weekend.”

Tom stood up and left several twenty-dollar bills. “I might take you up on that. Thank you again for the conversation… I didn’t catch your name.”

“Molly Bishop”. she said, clearing his glass.

Tom offered his hand, and she shook it. “Tom.”

“I know.” she leaned in, her dark brown hair falling to the sides of her face. “Remember, you’re a movie star.”

Tom laughed. A real belly laugh. So loud that it jolted the old man at the other end of the bar awake. “I needed that. Thank you again. Have a good evening, day, morning.”

“It’s evening. Goodnight, Tom. Sleep well.”

Tom headed back towards the bank of elevators. He glanced over his shoulder to watch Molly wipe down where he had been sitting, shove the twenties into a tip jar, while tucking her hair behind her ears and help an obviously drunk couple. Tom made a mental note to find her again before he flew back and leave an even bigger tip.

Tom woke up the next morning and headed down to the gym to run on the treadmill. He would have preferred running outside but wanted to avoid people. After running five miles, he switched the machine off, wiped it and him down and headed upstairs to shower and change for the day. Tom wandered back downstairs in search of Molly, but the bartender on duty, a guy named Seth, mentioned she wouldn’t be back until the evening. Tom thanked him and headed back upstairs.

He was restless until it was time to get ready. After dressing, he took a selfie in the mirror and sent it to Illaria who confirmed he did it right. Now came the waiting game. Tom wanted to time it to avoid having to see her at all. Finally deciding he had wanted long enough, Tom called for the car and headed downstairs. What Tom forgot to account for was his incredible bad luck.

He arrived right after her and was forced to walk the red carpet, watching her out of the corner of his eye, with her arm linked around whatever man, boy, prey she ensnared for the evening. Tom plastered a killer smile on his face and continued to repeat the mantra in his head “Living well is the best revenge” when all he wanted to do is either trip her or return to his hotel room and eat an inordinate amount of chocolate cake.

The rest of the awards show blurred together into moments of white hot rage masked by a cool exterior and numbness. Thank god for the teleprompter or else Tom wondered if he would have made it through his presentation. But he did and thought he made it through the entire event without running into her and then…

“Tom!” her voice called out.

Tom froze and stiffened. What a difference a few weeks can make.

“Darling!” He spun on his heel to face her, smile firmly in place. He leaned forward and kissed her cheeks. “It’s good to see you. You look good.” he lied through his teeth.

“You too. I thought I might miss you. I just wanted to say—”

Tom waved her off. “Water under the bridge.” Another lie. Perhaps he missed his calling as a barrister or even a publicist. “Your date seems nice.”

She smiled. That smile that once melted his heart. “Thanks. He is. Where’s your—”

“Back at the hotel.” He checked his watch. “Which reminds me, I should head back. Big plans for the night.”

She blinked, and stutter stepped back. “Oh. Right.” She composed herself. “Well, it was nice to see you again. I hope we can be friends.” She held her arms open.

Fucking friends! Tom howled inside his mind. What was she playing at? More fodder for her songs? Tom seethed on the inside. He stepped forward to awkwardly hug her, praying there was no one around to snap a photo. Knowing her, though, she probably had someone in the balcony with a zoom lens.

“Of course, love.” He squeezed her a little too tight until she let loose a small yelp of pain. Tom allowed a genuine smile to come across his face. “I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy the after party.” He walked away before she could continue on the conversation.

He waited until he was well out of earshot. “Bitch.”

The crowd started waning around 9:30 as the awards show let out. Molly figured most of the attendees would hit the after parties and things would pick up around 1 or 2 a.m. Until then, it would just be the regulars. She turned around to arrange the glasses she just cleaned when a now familiar voice rang out.

“Marry me.” Tom asked, his tie loosened.

“I don’t know you.” Molly teased back. “Now what will you have?”

“You as my wife.” Tom repeated, his palm flattened against the bar.

“Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Are you drunk?”

Tom shook his head. “Stone cold sober. Hear me out.”

She glanced around, seeing no plausible escape. “I’m listening. But if another customer comes up, I’m walking away.”

“I need something to move the paparazzi off this current news cycle with me.”

Molly smirked. “You ran into the ex. Did she have a new boy toy on her arm?”

“Yes, but that is beside the point.”

“It is entirely the point.”

Tom slammed his hand against the bar, rattling the container of nuts nearby. “Can I continue or are you going to keep interrupting?”

Molly crossed her arms. “Go on.”

“I need something to move the press off this story. You need money. We are the solution to each other’s problems.”

“You may be gorgeous, but if you think I am sleeping with you for money…”

“I never said sex. I said marriage. The last I checked, they could be mutually exclusive.” Tom’s expression softened. “Listen, you are clearly unhappy here. I am unhappy too. If us being together could alleviate a bit of that unhappiness, why wouldn’t we seize the opportunity? We get married. Get the paparazzi off my back. I would pay off your student loans and credit cards. And then after a year of living together, we quietly divorce. No sex. Just a business relationship.”

Molly chewed over what Tom said, while chewing on her bottom lip. He wasn’t wrong, she was unhappy. Vegas was supposed to be a brand new start, but it was more of the same. Dead end job and no career prospects on the horizon.”

“Did you say live together?”

“In London, yes. I have plenty of room. Your own space. You have a passport.”

“Yes.”

Tom’s face broke out in a wide grin. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The blood pounded in his ears and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He looked up at her with his bright blue eyes.

“Will you marry me, Molly Bishop?”

“Yes.” she smiled back.

Tom leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Then let’s get going, because the licensing bureau closes at midnight.”

Molly headed over to the manager, Nick.

“I quit.” she shoved her apron at him.

“What? You can’t quit, Molly. The big rush is coming.”

“You heard the lady.” Tom called. “She quits.”

“And who the hell are you?”

“Her fiancé. Come on, darling.” Tom held out his hand. She lifted up the bar at the entrance and took his hand.

The two of you were full of nervous energy the entire cab ride to the licensing bureau, fitting right in with the other couples waiting to get a license. While you waited in line, Tom made some calls to several chapels until he found one open and able to squeeze the two of you in.

“Now all we need is to get you a dress and some rings.”

“Oh!” Molly dug through her purse. “My friend’s kid gave these to me.” She pulled out two plastic rings. “I think these will do in a pinch.”

Tom closed his hand over hers. “I’ll buy us proper rings tomorrow. Now a dress.”

“There’s a mall on the way. I can grab something on the way.” Tom kissed Molly’s forehead.

“You are brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

Within an hour, Molly was wearing a simple white slip dress, Tom still in his suit from the awards show, although he did straighten up the tie. She smiled like a fool, holding onto a fake bouquet and Tom’s wedding ring, complete with a plastic spider in her hand.

Tom slipped on the plastic gem ring when the minister told him to, and she did the same with the spider ring. Tom giggled and so did Molly .

“I now pronounce husband and wife, you may kiss the bride.”

Tom leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. His lips were warm and soft. It was… nice. Under other circumstances, she imagined Tom would be an excellent kisser.

Tom gazed down at her. “Hello, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

“Hello, Mr. Hiddleston.”

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