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icallhimjoey · 2 years

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your writing is beautiful and so realistic too. i think that’s what makes you my favourite joseph author. you just stand out with your easy-to-read but pretty style. i also appreciate the fact that you tackle all kinds of stories, from cute to more serious ones, with a touch of humour as well. so yeah bit of a fan (that’s a euphemism) 🤍✨

if that’s alright with you, and if your requests are still open, i would like to indulge myself. i can’t stop thinking about joseph being caught in the middle of a fan mob in london and just getting away from it by stepping into a bookshop/library/coffee shop (owned by our dear reader of course). just a fluffy story about love at first sight (or rather something close to it) 🥹

if your plan was to murder me, you have succeeded my friend. wordcount: 1.7K

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Like A Poem

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

“Sorry, we’re closed!” You called out when you heard the bell by the door ring as it had opened and closed. You were stood high upon a ladder, leaning against its frame to steady yourself as you restyled shelves on the back wall behind the counter, putting newly released books into place.

“Oh sorry, I was just… looking for a mensroom?” an awkward voice spoke behind you.

You grabbed hold of the wooden slats in front of you before carefully looking down over your shoulder.

Joseph Quinn.

You recognized him instantly, and you could see how he looked slightly panicked as he stepped away from the entrance, pressing himself against the side, almost hiding from street view.

You weren’t sure what to say, but you were instantly aware that if Joe got any closer to you, he could easily see right up your skirt.

“This is a book shop,” you said pointedly, but when you saw a group of girls holding out their phones rush past your store, you softened. You put two and two together quick enough. “But we have one in the back,” you nodded your head towards the narrow hallway that lead into the breakroom that was closed off by a door with a sign that read ‘personnel only’.

Joe looked up at you and just stood there for a second, frozen in space, his face blank and his mouth slightly agape. Gawking. You could feel a blush creep up your neck and you smiled before letting an embarrassing chuckle escape your throat, breaking Joe’s trance.

“Thanks so much,” he managed to say after clearing nothing in his throat and he rushed towards the back. You were sure he’d find the bathroom by himself, the probability of him getting lost was naught in your little tucked away store in a quiet side street.

The only reason you were still in business, you knew, was because your bookstore was the exact opposite of a WHSmith’s. Your darkly stained wooden bookshelves reached all the way up to the high ceilings, not a surface in sight that wasn’t covered in literature. Two big old armchairs that had seen many relaxed, reading bodies stood by the window, facing each other. Quaint. Old-timey. Victorian, if you squinted.

If you weren’t the first choice for people to come to for books, you were at least a great Instagram snap location, a quirky hang out for the quiet girls or even the perfect spot for a first date. So, you’d leant into it and had fully embraced the vibe you knew people were after when visiting a tiny little book shop in central London.

Whilst Joe was in the back, you realized the outdoor A-frame sign was still out front, even though you’d already turned the sign on the door over to closed. You climbed down the ladder and quickly made your way outside to bring it in. You couldn’t help but check both ways down the street for the girls you suspected were after selfies with Joseph. They were gone, and you smiled to yourself, happy to have been of service in his escape.

Stepping back inside, you were struggling your way in past the heavy door, not enough hands or strength to carry the sign and hold the door open at the same time. You could see Joe step out of the breakroom and walk back into the shopfront. When he saw you struggling, Joe immediately shot to help with the heavy sign, taking it from you in a swift move before you could even tell him that you didn't need the help.

“Oh- thanks,” you mustered.

“Where do you want it?”

“Down by the till’s fine,” you pointed, and Joe set it down exactly where you’d normally keep it. You gave him an awkward smile when he turned back to you.

“Thanks for letting me use the toilet,” God, this man was gorgeous. His hair was blonder than you thought it was from having seen him on TV.

“Of course,” you smiled, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly mesmerized by his eyes. They were almost breathtaking in real life, you thought. When you noticed Joe warily check behind you to look outside the window, you grinned to yourself.

“They’ve gone, coast is clear.” You stepped around Joe who you saw visibly relax to your words.

You were ready to get back to your duty, plenty of upper shelves still empty and piles of books on the counter that needed to make its way up there. You thought about how tonight you were going to call your mum and tell her how famous actor Joseph Quinn had come into the shop and had used your toilet. How he had been so kind to help you with the A frame. No hint of an ego as he’d graced you with a couple of minutes of his presence.

You expected to hear Joe say goodbye, or to even just hear the bell of the door that he’d open to leave, but you were met with silence when you stepped back onto the ladder. Not fully trusting it, you turned to look back at him and saw him staring at a stack of books on the surface behind you.

“Whoa,” he said, taking one from the top and giving it a closer look. “This looks beautiful.”

You smiled and stepped back down, not minding Joe’s loitering in your closed business.

“They’re gorgeous, aren't they?” you moved some books about to show him more covers. “These are part of Levente Szabo’s ‘Great Books Project’, they’re all classics, but these covers are just… something else. They’re not new, but we didn’t have these ones in yet,” you explained.

“This one’s my favourite,” you pulled a copy of Blindness by José Saramago out and showed it to him. The fully black dust-jacket showed an illustrated naked woman on the front with hands grabbing at her from all sides. To you it conveyed part of the story so perfectly, you’d immediately taken a copy for yourself. You were very aware that it wasn't how running a bookstore worked, but you hadn't cared.

Joe took the book from you with careful fingers that briefly brushed yours in the transaction. He didn’t need to do that, you thought. Joe scanned the cover of the book with great attention and you took a moment to quickly study his face, his body language, through narrowed eyes. If you could read him, you decided you would. You'd read him like you'd read a poem.

You would always find yourself awestruck at poems. Sometimes it would take you a while to understand, or to find meaning, the words a mystery to you at first. But you almost always found their wordplay beautiful. They would invite to find deeper meaning behind them. Yes. You agreed with yourself. You'd read Joe, like you'd read a poem.

“I know you said you were closed, but…” Joe didn’t move, but his eyes shot up to look straight into yours. His eyebrows followed questioningly as he held out the book to you. Was this a way of flirting? Surely not, don’t be daft.

You took the book from his hands and turned towards the till, powering it back up. “Have you read this one already?” you asked, more so to just fill the silence than anything else. The book was a classic, after all.

“Not yet, I’ve seen the film though. It’s a great story,” Joe reached a hand into his back-pocket, you assumed for his wallet, and you grinned to yourself.

“Of course you’ve seen the film,” you said softly, mostly to yourself, and Joe wasn’t sure if you’d just given away that you knew exactly who he was, but he decided he wasn't going to press it.

“This place is pretty… whimsical?” Joe said as he peered around, eyes traveling up the shelves. “Thanks, I try.” You said, hinting that the shop was yours and you didn’t just work there as an employee.

“Harry Potter-ish.” He concluded.

“I’ve got those with some redesigned covers too, if you wanted to have a look,” you smiled at him coyly, knowing you were pushing your luck with your sales-pitch. It made Joe laugh. I made Joseph laugh! You could barely hold in the giddy excitement you felt pushing up your throat as you scanned the barcode to ring Joe up.

“Fuck,” your face suddenly fell when you realized.

“I’m sorry,” you winced, both for swearing, and for the news you were about to deliver. “These aren’t in the system yet.” You tapped the book in front of you. “They’re not for sale until tomorrow.”

You made sorry eyes at Joe as he dropped his head in defeat. But he was quick to whip it back up. “No worries,” he took a step back and swung his arms wide. “What time you open tomorrow? 9?” Joe guessed.

You stared at him, your facial expression blank and unwavering.

“10.” You corrected him.

“Alright,” he nodded slowly. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow. At 10.” Joe kept taking backwards steps towards the door.

“See you... tomorrow?” the words left you mouth in utter state of confusion at what was happening. Joe shot you one last smile before turning and leaving out the door. The second the door shut, you let your knees buckle and you dramatically fell to the floor, disappearing behind the counter.

How was anyone going to believe what had just happened?

You caught your breath for a second, replaying every word spoken and every look shared in your mind. Surely, you had to be dreaming. Or at least, reading into things too much. Yes. That was probably it. He’d just been a kind customer. Nothing special. Just some dude. Nothing to write home about. Nothing to read home about.

You stood back up and wiped down your skirt but froze immediately when you saw Joe through the window, standing outside the door still, a wide grin pulling at his cheeks.

Oh no.

You buried your burning face into your hands before peeking at him through your fingers. He laughed, and so you laughed too. You were such an idiot.

Joe gave a small, last wave and turned on his heel with a small hop, truly leaving this time. And as if on cue, your phone rang. You quickly checked to see who it was before answering immediately.

“Mum, you’ll never guess what’s just happened,” part two

#joe quinn #joseph quinn #fanfiction #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader #joe x reader #joseph x reader #joey quinn #requested

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 7 months

Text

love at first interrogation

pairing: norman jayden x ethan mars

cw: addiction, oral sex, infidelity

summary: they fall in love (plus a few bumps along the way)

a/n: again, sorry, i gotta crosspost stuff bc i want to <3 anyway, play heavy rain (pls, for me 🥹)

cw: 8.4k

October/November 2011

The Origami Killer case went well by the FBI's metrics. Norman got a promotion that came with a raise and a larger office. What more could he ask for? The kid survived. Norman had given him CPR and was the hero of the story, getting interviews and thank you's from people he'd never met. This was a novelty.

But Tripto was still there. The fact that Tripto and ARI were his partners on the most monumental case in his career did not encourage him to stop, and Norman knew that he needed to stop using both. Tripto wasn’t difficult to kick at first - he flushed the last vial in the mensroom of the Philly PD, and for a while, that was it.

ARI was harder to kick, but necessary. He used it for work and for pleasure, but other than sleep, most, if not all, activities can be broken into the categories of work and pleasure. Things that suck are work, things that are fun are pleasure.

Though, getting sucked off would be classified as pleasure .

Norman had to wean himself off ARI slowly. Initially, it would be for work only, but then work plus ARI equaled twice the headache and he wasn't going to let himself use Tripto to take the edge off anymore. Things got harder when his workload got heavier.

More work equals more suck, and less getting sucked.

Besides throwing himself headfirst into his work, which was his knee jerk coping mechanism, he started reading more, cooking instead of getting takeout, and remembering movies. Norman had always watched movies, but with a drug-addled brain, preoccupied by technology, he couldn't absorb anything besides the color scheme and the general aura that a movie gave off.

Everything was memorable for better or for worse. Days stopped blending together. He bought a calendar with a different picture of an Italian city for each new month where he could tick off every day that passed, like he was giving himself a gold star for surviving.

Coming to grips with the loneliness and isolation that he trapped himself within was much less satisfying. His apartment was not minimalist, it was undecorated, under furnished, unsuitable for guests.

His second bedroom was a place to fold the laundry. He left unmatched socks on the bed because he could. Norman didn't feel like a guest in his home, per se, but more like a passerby. He came and went. It was a layover between one workday and the next. If he slept in his own office, he could save time, but for what purpose? His apartment was a change of scenery.

December 2011

He was barely hanging onto his sanity by December.

In December, four months after the Origami Killer's case was "officially" closed - as always, there were still loose ends leading to other cases on the periphery that continued to drag on - Norman got a call from Ethan Mars. The last time he saw Ethan there were prison bars between the two of them.

“Are you doing anything around Christmas?”

“Uh…no, why?”

For Norman, Christmas was the most depressing time of the year. Norman had decided religion wasn’t for him the day he found out that God sends gays to Hell. And since he’d come out to his parents, he hadn’t gone home for the holidays. He used to have Jack, which made Christmas worth celebrating. After Jack’s death, there wasn’t anything to celebrate.

“We’re having a Christmas party and I - we - wanted to invite you.”

Well, shit - now, he’d admitted to being free during the holidays, so it’s not like he could say no. Plus, he had vacation days - and cash from the raise he’d gotten - piling up.

“I think I might be able to make it.”

“Great. I’ll text you the details.”

The Christmas party went over better than expected. Norman didn’t typically go to parties because he wasn’t really a social person.

He showed up to the Mars family’s home “fashionably late” - the time of arrival having been perfectly calculated in advance because Norman was never late… unless he wanted to be. Grace Mars was the one to answer the door and Norman realized what Ethan meant by “we”. He handed her the bottle of wine he’d brought because flowers weren’t really in season.

Grace responded as is socially expected with a “you shouldn’t have”, pulling him into a friendly side-hug.

To Norman’s surprise, Shaun came over and hugged him, too. After the initial shock of the situation, Norman breathed the biggest sigh of relief.

He’s alive.

The hug came with a “thank you for saving me”, to which Norman responded, “Don’t mention it.” Norman had failed so many times that being somebody’s hero just didn’t feel like an honor he didn’t deserve.

The only awkward part of the night was his conversation with Madison Paige, the journalist and Ethan’s new girlfriend, which was a brief one.

“I mean, how did you do it? Administering CPR and fighting off the Origami Killer all by yourself?”

It felt somewhere between an interview and flirting. He did not want to engage in either with Madison.

“I was just doing my job.”

“No one else in the Philly PD was doing theirs, then, because you were the only one there to save Shaun.”

It was hard not to tell her that she was actually right about that part.

“I have a lot of experience working in homicide cases, so I had a leg up.”

That was only partially the truth. He had worked on plenty of homicide cases, but he wasn’t able to save anyone else.

“Don’t be so modest,” Madison said, putting a hand on his arm.

It felt weird to have a woman touch him, and not just because it was a rarity.

“I think you’re giving me too much credit.”

She didn’t argue, but with a light squeeze on his bicep, she said, “This suit looks great on you.”

“It’s just a regular suit. I have to dress like this for my job, so-”

Ethan came over and Madison conveniently removed her hand from Norman’s arm.

Ethan was Norman’s savior tonight.

“Hey, you made it,” Ethan said with a grin on his face that Norman had yet to see, pulling him into a full hug, which was more surprising than the one Shaun gave him. It was sweet, though. Norman gave him a friendly pat on the back and tried to hide the redness in his cheeks. Ethan smelled nice. His cologne or aftershave was probably expensive.

Ethan dragged Norman over to the kitchen to make him a drink. As it turned out, Ethan was a bit of a mixologist, who whipped up something similar to a Manhattan, but a little fancier - a little tastier.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” Norman asked.

“Grace gets those home magazines that have recipes in them.”

Does Ethan still live here? Norman has not had enough alcohol to inhibit his social awareness enough to ask that, not yet.

The night went by smoothly, and the drinks went down just the same. People started to leave around 9 or 10 because Shaun had to be put to bed. Ethan convinced Norman to stay a little longer, though, since he was from out of town.

Grace went to bed and Madison left, and Norman was glad because although they seemed civil, there was no way they wanted to hang out with each other. It didn’t take a profiler to know that the ex-wife and the new girlfriend were not friends.

“So, you and Madison?”

Norman wasn’t a gossip, but it felt like prerequisite knowledge to any other questions about Ethan’s life.

“Yeah, we’ve been together since she helped me during the, uh, case.”

“Are you making a confession here?”

“Shit - she’s not gonna get in trouble for me saying that, right?” Norman saw genuine worry in Ethan's eyes. It would've been funny if it was truly just Ethan's naivete about how the law works - not that the cops are good, but that the cops don't tend to do unnecessary work, sometimes even necessary work . But Ethan's concern was surely a product of his own experience, which Norman still felt a bit guilty about.

“No, don’t worry about that.” The amount of conduct violations - admittedly, some done by him - that had already been committed during was high enough that not turning her in was just less paperwork to do.

“Oh, thank god. I wouldn't want her to get in trouble because of me."

“Ethan, you're innocent. Case closed." Norman paused and then added, "Plus, I already knew about her involvement."

And turning Madison in for helping Ethan would be hypocritical.

“You already know that? How?”

“It’s classified,” Norman said with a smile that hopefully didn’t look too flirtatious.

In all honesty, it wasn’t classified, but he didn’t want to rehash the whole thing.

“I assume flattery and bribery don’t work on you?”

What’s the bribe, Ethan?

“Generally, no.”

Over the course of the night, they both caught up on each other’s lives - in some ways, learning about each other for the first time because as much as Norman had studied Ethan, he only knew him as a suspect, not as a friend.

Norman did not bring up his addiction because it was over, right? No need to tell Ethan and bring down the mood. His life was fine, albeit boring compared to Ethan’s life, consisting of a new house, a new girlfriend, and his son - who lived , and that’s what mattered most.

Norman sobered up a lot before going home, but still called a cab back to the hotel to be safe. He cared about his own life.

January 1, 2012

Christmas quickly became New Years.

Norman barely knew anyone at the party, and it felt like everyone was watching him. Not in the way that people gawk at celebrities, but in the way they crane their necks towards train wrecks. Norman and Ethan were standing close enough that either of them could lean in and kiss the other and call it a drunken mistake, clumsiness, a case of mistaken identity. If someone else caught them, one of them could throw the other under the bus.

Maybe it was just the alcohol, but time started to move at a different rate and Norman was not really focusing on what he was supposed to be talking about because he was looking at Ethan's lips around the lip of the beer bottle he was drinking from. It felt like he had just gotten there, but the countdown was starting, bringing him back to reality. He looked over to the TV to see two C-list celebrities who looked vaguely familiar standing in Times Square counting down from 10. Everyone in the room began to chant along with them.

Except for Ethan whose voice summoned Norman to turn around. There were 4 seconds left when Ethan said, "It's a tradition, right?". And Norman knew what Ethan meant, so he nodded and took a last swig of beer.

When the countdown got down to the last second Ethan and Norman were standing even closer than before, so close that their lips were almost touching. "Happy New Year," Norman tried to say, but was cut off by Ethan's lips, and he probably should've pulled away, but instead he closed his eyes and pulled him closer.

Norman hoped that he put the bottle in his hand down on the countertop because otherwise, there was broken glass and beer on the floor - he certainly wasn't holding it anymore. Both of his hands were touching Ethan.

Thank God Madison was somewhere else. Probably kissing someone else at some other party. Norman wasn't just jealous that Madison had Ethan, but angry that she didn't appreciate him.

Ethan's tongue was teasing Norman's lips and Norman would not refuse - all of his willpower was being used to prevent himself from clawing at Ethan's dress shirt, desperately trying to undress him in public. Like most people left at the party, they were making out, breathing heavily into each other's mouths. Norman - an atheist until this moment - prayed that his suit jacket was enough to hide his hard-on.

It was definitely past the point of "it's-just-a-tradition" kissing, and Norman was envisioning every parallel universe in which they were not at this party, surrounded by potential witnesses, every universe where Ethan is not straight - if either of them were being honest, there is no way that Ethan is straight in this universe, either. In these other universes, the luckier versions of them are fumbling up the stairs of someone's apartment, and in a few, they are still making out in the parking lot and barely make it to the car before they're both undressed. There are universes in which one or both of them are wealthy and they are in the elevator of the Ritz Carlton on their way to their hotel room that they've rented for the night.

But, in this universe, Ethan will go home with Madison, and sleep a little further from her in the bed. Norman will go home alone, and won't sleep at all. That will happen when one of them is brave enough to break the kiss, just not yet.

New Years was one day out of thousands that Norman had lived, but it was the only one he cared about. He couldn’t stop thinking about Ethan, even when he was back in D.C.

So, when Ethan called and asked him to come over again, it was the easiest “yes” of his life.

Norman almost hung up the phone with an "I love you" before the "goodbye", but thank god he stopped himself. Ethan texted him all the details, while Norman tried to slap himself awake.

But it was hard to wake up when his life became a fucking dream.

February 2012

Ethan and Norman spent most of Friday night on Ethan's balcony, standing a friendly distance apart, each holding a beer. Alcohol relaxed the brain, finally allowing them both to get out of their endless internal spirals - that was one thing they had in common: psychological self-torture. The cold bottle in his hand kept Norman from fidgeting and engaged his senses enough to keep him from dissociating completely.

They did not acknowledge New Year's - it was better to leave it in the past than to risk vulnerability. And he couldn’t make eye contact with him. He had no idea who he’d see staring him back in the face - a friend or a lover?

And when they did, Ethan coughed in a transitional manner, clearly wanting to continue to avoid the tension surrounding the New Year’s incident. But Norman’s not one to act childish about these things.

“Listen, Ethan, we need to talk about New Year’s.”

“No, we don’t.”

What other reaction should he have expected?

Ethan grabbed Norman’s face and kissed him.

Not that one.

Tomorrow, they'd blame it on the alcohol, but if he had the courage, Norman would do it sober. It was like they owed each other for lost time. They paid off their debts with desperate kisses and hands, feeling for anything previously untouched, anything needy.

For a moment, guilt took hold of Norman's conscience.

This is worse than letting Ethan escape from police custody. That was a valiant act, saving an innocent father; whatever "this" is, it is full of guilt, indecency, sin - if that exists, and certainly not innocence.

But soon. Nothing mattered anymore, not the beer in his hand, not the balcony, not how absolutely fucking reckless this is. Definitely not how Ethan's girlfriend could come home at any moment . Selfishly, Norman didn't care about that possibility anyway.

Before Norman could think about any reason that they shouldn't, Ethan's lips were on his, every movement was urgent, and none were intentional. It was better that way. It was authentic, it was raw. Norman's hands were in Ethan's hair, pulling him closer, as close as possible. They were both panting, out of breath, but needed the kiss more than they needed oxygen. Norman was getting dizzy by the time Ethan kicked open the door and led Norman to the living room couch. It would've be a fucking miracle if they'd made it to the bedroom fully clothed, but there was no time for the divine - this was hedonistic, chasing some unknown pleasure, something in the taste of each other's tongues.

Both of their shirts were gone, somewhere on the floor between the living room and the door. Norman pushed Ethan onto the couch and climbed on top of him. Ethan's hands grabbed ahold of his waist, pulling him closer, bringing their lips back together. Ethan took Norman's bottom lip in his teeth and gently tugged on it, making Norman groan in response. His face flushed - he was not used to being so expressive. To resume control over the situation, Norman took a risk and stood up, watched disappointment and confusion flood Ethan's face -

Ethan looks like he might beg for it. For what? He doesn't even know yet .

Norman maintained eye contact while sinking to his knees. Ethan's eyes widened, and he bit his lip, but Norman could hear his breath hitch.

Norman placed one hand on each of Ethan's thighs, which were still inconveniently covered by denim. He spoke in a breathy tone, "D'you mind if I -?" Even though Norman was not the inexperienced one in this scenario - Norman had ample experience on his knees - his fingers were trembling. He had to make this right. It was not just about this - it was about Ethan, about Ethan and Norman.

This might be the determiner of whether that "and" exists .

Ethan nodded with pink cheeks replacing any hesitation. Norman's tipsy mind was a master of impulsive decisions based on overconfidence, but he knew the dexterity and precision it would require for him to be able to unzip Ethan's jeans with his teeth was much higher than what could offer right then. As much as every second that stood between Norman and Ethan's naked body ached, Norman knew that he would only embarrass himself by trying to pull any sort of advanced shit like that.

That's not to say that Ethan won't get the best head of his life - Norman planned to suck him dry right there in the living room.

While he fumbled with Ethan's belt, Norman felt a hand in his hair, stroking his head gently, and it felt like praise. In a coordinated motion, they managed to get Ethan's pants off.

Norman began with gentle touches and kisses downward. He wanted to make this last for Ethan, so his hand and mouth working in tandem were a teasing, tantalizing duo. Not tight enough, not fast enough, not wet enough to make him come just yet. If Norman wasn't madly in love with Ethan, he would have him begging for it right now.

But he liked Ethan too much to tease him for too long.

Norman was satisfied by his own performance when Ethan finished in what felt like five minutes. Ethan was expressive when he came - back arching, hands gripping the couch, trying so hard to be quiet and failing miserably.

When Norman pulled away - only after Ethan had fully ridden out his orgasm - they locked eyes. Ethan came out of a state of bliss and into a state of something between shock at what they had just done, and awe at Norman's skills.

" Holy shit ," was all he had to say.

Norman stood up and wiped his lips with his thumb; then, he stuck it in his mouth, licking away every last drop. He took the liberty of taking a sip of a glass of water that was left on the counter - hopefully Ethan's. He walked back over to the couch, unsure whether to be proud or embarrassed - he was the king of debauchery.

Ethan took him by the hand and pulled him onto his lap to give him a grateful kiss. When they stopped to catch their breaths, Ethan said, "I think I owe you."

"You don't owe me anythin'," Norman said with a gentle smile. "I did it because I wanted to, and I know - I think - you've never done that before, so I don't expect you to reciprocate." He stumbled over his words - it was an awkward subject, even after the events that had transpired.

"You’re right," Ethan said with his eyes still full of passion, "but I trust you." Somehow that meant more than "I love you", and it hit like a shockwave - causing him to short-circuit and then melt.

"You sure you wanna do this?" Norman was still in disbelief - he didn't deserve this, "It's not easy on the knees. I'll probably wake up with a few bruises."

"What will your cover story be?"

"Nothin' - I don't plan on gettin' naked in front of anyone."

"Not even me?" The glint in Ethan's eye - playful, yet so, so sure of this, was enough to convince Norman.

Even in the dim living room light, his cheeks were noticeably pink. "Maybe I could do that..." He said with a coy grin.

"How about we move this to the bedroom then, so my old man knees won't get bruised."

And so you won't have to tell Madison what happened.

Norman gladly accepted the invitation, and got up, collecting their clothes from the floor and passing them off to Ethan to deposit in a laundry basket on the way to the bedroom.

Being an adult equals two things: having sex and doing the laundry; for the most efficient, each of the two tasks could be conducted in the intermission of the other.

Ethan and Madison's bed had optimal room for two men and zero clothing.

And there was something particularly salacious about the fact that both of them could see Madison's accouterments scattered about the room. Spite enhanced arousal.

Ethan pushed Norman onto the bed, climbing atop him and kissing him fervently. Norman couldn't remember the last time he'd been wanted this badly. He groaned at the mental image of the imminent. Ethan's lips left Norman's mouth in search of what made him tick. He found it in the nape of Norman's neck, the spot behind his ear, and most evidently right around his hip bones. Norman's breath was heavy, his forehead was glistening with sweat. It would be embarrassing if he wasn't overwhelmed with desire.

When Ethan reached Norman's cock it was throbbing. The way Ethan grabbed it made it seem like he had done this before - in a way, he had, just not to anyone else. He gingerly kissed the tip, making it twitch. Norman inhaled and braced himself, grabbing the covers to stop himself from reaching for Ethan's head. He knew he was going to lose his self-control soon, and it was only the beginning.

Ethan stuck his tongue out, and licked a stripe from the base back up to the tip, looking at Norman dewy-eyed the whole time. Whether it was because he was nervous or because he intended to tease Norman, Ethan took just the tip between his lips.

But there was something about it that made Norman crazy. "Jesus Christ," he said through gritted teeth.

This prompted Ethan to take more of him, slowly, carefully, deliberately, taking one inch at a time. Norman had to close his eyes to save the shred of pride he had left. Because if he saw Ethan's cheeks hollowed out, tears threatening to run down them, it would be over for him.

It was like Ethan had studied for this, which is something you really can't do, no matter how much porn you watch. It just takes experience.

Norman was biting his fist to keep himself from quiet.

Not that anyone was home, but you can never be too careful.

He took his fist out of his mouth, causing drool to roll down his chin, to say, "I'm close." It was a warning. One that Ethan did not take. He had little time to regardless because Norman came hard, down Ethan's throat with a strangled moan. His entire body was trembling. The aftershocks coursed through him, making him convulse, then twitch, then lie there limp. Air re-entered his lungs, quelling the overwhelming dizziness that came with the euphoria that had taken over his body.

"Goddammit, Ethan!" Norman was impressed, but also a little jealous, "Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

"From watching you." He said with a sly grin.

"Thank you," he exhaled, "for the compliment and the blowjob ."

There was a sound coming from the stairs, footsteps, high heels, Madison . Ethan and Norman locked eyes and exchanged a look of panic. Luckily for Ethan, he was already dressed, but Norman was still naked and did not have the mental faculties to locate his clothes, which had been lost somewhere on the way into bed. Ethan threw him a pair of pajama bottoms, which he put on, and a t-shirt that was clean enough.

In a moment of brilliance amongst the brain fog, Norman rolled onto his side and pretended to be asleep, hoping he could pass off his post-orgasm state for drunkenness. Ethan got the memo or was great at improvising.

Madison called, "Ethan."

"Yeah?" Ethan responded and opened the bedroom door to step out into the hallway, wiping his face of any physical or emotional evidence of his affair.

She walked towards him and said something that Norman couldn't quite make out, though it sounded like she might be intending to seduce Ethan.

"Why'd you pull away?" he heard her whine.

"You've been drinking. Haven't you?" Ethan gave her his fatherly tone.

"Yeah, but what does that matter?"

"I don't want to do something that you might regret in the morning."

"Just kiss me - just one more kiss. Please."

One more kiss ? Ethan, that bastard kissed her with his dirty mouth.

Norman would be in hysterics if he had any energy left at all. The "passed out act" was barely an act anymore. Madison bought their bullshit and slept on the couch, while Ethan "tended to Norman who didn't feel well".

Ethan was lying well enough to make Norman suspicious. Maybe he was the Origami Killer after all? Norman considered the ways he could interrogate him and what he could get him to confess. But that was for another day.

February 2012

Norman left town the next day. He’d already planned it that way. He can only take so many vacation days before the FBI tracks him down and drags him back to D.C. - plus, it’s easier this way. Norman can reject the idea of object permanence and pretend that since Ethan’s not in front of him, he doesn’t even exist and therefore, Norman doesn’t need to consider the fact that he might be feeling a little bit more than simple desire.

Normally, he would rely on Tripto and ARI to get him through, but he’d given up on both, so he had to find new ways to waste time. There are only so many movies to watch. The number once seemed infinite. But Norman realized that an awful lot of media is not very interesting when you consume it sober.

He picked back up exercise, reluctantly, because despite the fact that he was the least stubborn person in the Philly PD, he was much more stubborn than the average American. Everyone had tried to convince him that exercise would help his persistent depression and constant stress, and he was adamant that they were wrong.

Norman didn’t tell anyone when he partially conceded that exercise did help him get some sort of emotional release. It wasn’t a cure-all, though. It brought up his self-esteem, which was well-below average. Now, at least, he could handle more than a passing glance at himself in the mirror. But it wasn’t like anyone was going to see his physical transformation. He hadn’t been touched in any capacity since Ethan.

Norman didn’t need something else to get addicted to, so he took a rubber band from the junk drawer in his kitchen and kept it on his wrist, tucked behind his watch at work, so it wouldn’t become a topic of conversation. As an expert in psychology, he knew all about Pavlov and decided to try to create a negative association with Ethan. Every time he thought about calling Ethan, he would snap the rubber band hard on his wrist. This didn’t work at all. In fact, quite the opposite, he started getting a little turned on by the pain of the rubber band, so he stopped the Pavlovian experiment before it got any weirder.

Ethan called again. Norman waited a few rings before picking it up and took a deep breath in a futile attempt to compose himself.

“Hey, Norm,” Ethan’s cheerful tone that he’d come to know in the months post-origami, rang through the phone.

We’re doing nicknames now?

“Is that a Cheers reference?” Norman chuckled lightly.

“Huh?”

“You know, Cheers, the ‘80s sitcom?”

“No, I don’t think I’ve seen it.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Guess we’ll have to watch it next time you come over -”

Next time?

“Speaking of, are you busy next weekend?”

Norman tried not to say ‘no’ too quickly. It took no convincing to get Norman to come visit.

Never thought I’d wanna go back to Philly. .

March 2012

Next weekend couldn’t have come sooner.

Norman had gotten used to a loveless life due to a combination of self-isolation, social awkwardness, his parents' disapproval, and his polarizing deep need for justice in a criminal justice system that wasn't created for such a purpose, Norman hadn't felt love since Jack died.

So, feeling something for someone was terrifying. Remembering how he felt with Ethan - was the longing, after having made peace with solitude - worth the possibility of love?

Next weekend, things were good. Almost too good.

Ethan, thinking he’d have the house to himself since Madison was going away, invited Norman over, having forgotten, according to him - though Norman had no reason not to believe him, that he had Shaun that weekend.

It was better this way. Norman told himself. God is stepping in and saving us both - Ethan from cheating and him from getting too close to someone when things would inevitably end.

He was right. Having Shaun there was nice, but not for the reason he’d initially suspected.

Norman thought of himself as “not a kid person”. When his sister had her first child, he tried to keep an open mind, but a screaming baby and dirty diapers confirmed that he did not want to be a father

And he wasn’t. But hanging out with Ethan and Shaun, watching their father-son dynamic, was heart-warming.

Norman and his father never had this kind of relationship. Theirs was cold and distant. Maybe his father always knew he was gay. Norman couldn’t decide if that would make it better or worse.

They sat at the dinner table one night, eating some fancy exotic concoction because Ethan was a great cook as it turned out.

Dammit! Just another reason to like him.

Shaun turned to Norman and said, “You’re so cool, Agent Jayden.”

“Why do you think that?”

“You catch bad guys - you’re like a superhero.”

If only.

“Thanks, Shaun, but I wouldn’t go that far.”

April 2012

The second time Norman saved Shaun was much less dramatic than the first. Ethan was out buying groceries while Norman was inside catching up on some work - the FBI didn’t really believe in vacation time. Shaun had been playing outside - he had just turned 12 and was allowed to go out and play basketball with the other kids in the neighborhood without Ethan’s supervision.

Norman was sitting at the kitchen table when he heard crying. With FBI training, maybe even some innate paternal instinct, he jumped out of his seat and ran to the front hall to find Shaun with scraped up knees.

“Oh my god, Shaun, what happened?” Norman asked gently, surveying the damage.

It seemed likely that no stitches were needed.

“I was playing basketball and I tripped.”

“Do you know where your dad keeps the first aid kit?”

“In the bathroom.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Norman found the medicine cabinet stocked with various medical supplies. He would have to compliment Ethan on his preparedness later. He grabbed some bandages and rubbing alcohol as a disinfectant, as well as a wet washcloth, and rushed back downstairs.

Shaun was sitting on the living room couch.

In this situation, Norman could see his own father getting mad at him for hurting himself and his mother telling him not to get blood on the furniture.

“Sit still for me, okay?” Norman kneeled down to Shaun’s level and wiped the gravel off his knee.

Shaun nodded silently.

“This might sting a little bit, but I have to do it to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

Norman applied the rubbing alcohol as gently as possible, but Shaun still ended up in tears. He reached for Norman’s hand - the one that wasn’t on his knee - and grabbed it. Norman held his hand without question until he finished both knees and then bandaged them up.

“Can you not tell my dad that I cried?”

“It’s not a bad thing to cry, you know.”

“It’s embarrassing. The other kids made fun of me.”

“I’ve been there, kid. It sucks to be made fun of, but just remember, they’re probably insecure and that’s why they’re mean to others. They’re trying to cover up their own insecurity.”

“Did you ever get made fun of when you were my age?”

“All the time. It gets better as an adult.”

You still get shit from people like Blake, who still act like children.

“Does that mean someday I could be cool like you?”

“You’re already cooler than me.”

April 2012

Norman relished his time with Ethan when Madison was gone. He was determined to savor every moment, every kiss, all the little delicacies that one gets as a treat only on special occasions.

He wanted to take things slow, especially since they were hurried by their own eagerness the time before. Ethan, on the other hand, craved the rush that the novelty and shameless indulgence into what should be a guilty pleasure gave. More than that, he craved Norman.

He was going to tell Ethan to hold on, that he wanted this to last. But something overtook Norman, and he knew that the only way he could be satisfied was through Ethan's satisfaction. He needed to please Ethan. It was do or die. Norman, as an experienced investigator and sexual partner, knew how to make Ethan shiver. He had technique, experience, and a slutty level of dedication to the art.

So, the time between the first subtle, but knowing shared glance and Norman on his knees was short. It didn’t take long for Ethan to finish when he was looking at Norman’s glossy eyes the color of sea glass, silently pleading for praise and reassurance.

Norman shouldn’t have been surprised that Ethan wanted to return the favor and that it was good. It was good the last time. He had tried to pass it off as beginner’s luck - out of jealousy that one could be good at this without practice, but beginner's luck wasn't really a thing that could be applied to oral sex.

Or maybe he was just easy. Not since they’d put him on antidepressants, which could kill anyone’s sex drive. But somehow, Ethan was the cure for that side effect.

Sex wasn’t the only good thing between the two. Ethan wasn’t just a character in a wet dream to Norman.

Sure, prior to this, Norman wanted to live. That’s why he quit tripto. He still dealt with depression, but he didn’t want to die. There was still some sort of self-preservation left in him. For God knows what.

Then, Ethan came along. He was a different kind of reason - a reason to care about his current life, and by extension, about himself. Ethan's presence alone made him want to set a bedtime and an exercise routine. Initially, he thought it was aesthetic, trying to impress Ethan, but eventually, he realized that for once, he felt the need, no - the want, to stay alive.

May 2012

Norman’s life was good for the first time. Good doesn’t last forever, though.

It wasn’t just one thing that caused the relapse. Norman was getting poor performance reviews at work for the first time, so selfishly and idiotically, he called Ethan. Ethan usually was the one to reach out, but Norman figured it was time to make an effort.

Apparently, things were going well with Madison again because the two of them were having a romantic getaway for her birthday the next weekend, so Ethan was busy.

It was stupid to think of Ethan this way. He had a girlfriend, a woman he loved and could show off to the world. Norman was just a dirty secret. Maybe a friend sometimes.

It was just a blip in time. It probably won't be memorable for anyone else involved. Ethan and Shaun will move on with their lives and only he'll remember it all. Because it was important to him. But it's gone now. In this cheap motel room in downtown Philly, it's gone. If Norman makes it back to DC alive it'll be a miracle. That's what he should do, right? Go back to DC, beg for forgiveness there. Tell the FBI a lie he hasn't had a chance to come up with yet. His mind is too foggy. Triptocaine without ARI is just a feeling. There's nothing to see and nothing to do. It just feels like something for a while. And then like nothing once he's done too much and he builds up a tolerance to it. But nothing is better than pain. And pain is what happens when he tries to stop. His nose is gonna bleed anyway, so why not have fun with it? He'll barely notice if he gets high enough.

Maybe when he dies from this it'll be like the Earth was hit by an asteroid and one second his consciousness was there and the next second it was gone.

Tripto will kill him. He's sure of it. And he doesn't have anything to live for anymore, right? So who cares? As long as he can pay for the room he's in, which is not very expensive. The price to pay comes in the form of roaches and spiders - though, he's not entirely sure that they're not a hallucination.

It might be better that way.

It sounds like rain outside. If he had the energy to walk to the window and open the curtains, he'd know for sure. But, like most things, it remains a mystery for now.

Norman lies back on the bed, sighs, closes his eyes and hopes he can choose what he sees inside his mind. Even now, curled up on the motel room bed, writhing, trying to go without another dose for just one more minute, he could remember the feeling of Ethan’s hand on his.

God, it was so good for a while.

Life had to sabotage him. That's just the way life is - some people are just meant to be sad. Norman is one of those people. It was always going to end like this. Lying on the motel room bed, listening to the tap tap tap tap of the leaky bathroom sink, and thinking about Ethan.

Norman watched the Origami Killer fall to his death and get eaten by the trash compactor. The memory stuck. Triptocaine could not get rid of it. Norman went without a hit of Tripto for about a month after the incident. He spent his time being lauded as a hero and basking in his new promotion. Then it started to hurt again. Memories strung together. He found himself wandering through his partner's house and finding his lifeless body on the bed night after night. Then it wasn't just Jack - there were more and more bodies. His mind was decaying without the Triptocaine. He woke up in a cold sweat, shaking, and sometimes, when he'd get up and look in the mirror, he'd find dried blood that came from his nose.

At some point, the headaches got bad, the sweats came back out of nowhere. Advil, alcohol, taking a walk - none of it worked. It was either use Tripto or sit there and accept the pain. Norman kept a vial in his bedside drawer for emergencies and took it with him if he was vacationing. The first time he cracked it open it had been four months. He held the vial of blue powder in his hand and contemplated it. He thought about how bad the addiction got, how good Tripto feels, everything that happened with Jack, everything that happened to Jack, Jack is dead, how bad it feels that he's dead, how good Tripto feels. The cycle repeated itself until he was snorting it, blood dripped out of his nose. It wasn't death, he just wasn't used to the effects anymore. Low tolerance meant more side effects. Low tolerance meant he could get higher. Everything was fine for about an hour. Better than fine.

When the high started to wear off and Norman realized what the fuck he’d done, he felt everything all at once. Pain - physical and emotional, guilt, anger, sadness, and a certainty that now nothing could be good - because of him. He was the reason for all his own problems.

However, many minutes or hours later he was coughing up blood and calling someone on the phone. He just pressed call. He didn’t even know who or why. Considering he didn’t have much to live for or anyone to call anyway.

He only realized it was Ethan when he heard his voice.

“Hello?”

"Sorry for calling. I didn’t mean to. I just - I guess I don’t wanna die.”

“Whoa whoa whoa - die? Norman what the fuck is going on?” Ethan was whisper-yelling, like someone else was in the room with him.

“I shouldn’t have done this. Fuck! It’s all my fault.”

“What’s your fault? Where are you?”

Norman was losing consciousness.

“Hello?! Norman! Where are you?”

Norman must’ve told Ethan his location because he woke up on the motel room floor to Ethan trying to lift him up while holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder.

“I need an ambulance -”

“No, no, no! No ambulance. I’m fine.”

Ethan gave the operator their location, which was the right thing to do, and even though Norman wasn’t happy in the moment, he was later, when he woke up in the hospital.

“Oh thank god, you’re awake.”

It was Ethan. By his bedside.

“What?”

It was more of a “why” as in “why are you here?”

“I thought you were gonna die.”

"It probably would’ve been better that way.”

He didn’t meet Ethan’s eyes, but he could feel them staring.

“Did you just say it would be better if you died?”

“Yeah,” Norman made a gesture to convey that it should be obvious."I’m an inconvenience to everyone around me.”

“Not to me.”

“Especially to you.” Norman turned to look at Ethan.“You’re in the ER with me. That’s the ultimate inconvenience.”

“If you found me bleeding on the floor, would you come to the ER?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Exactly. Because you care about me. Just like I care about you.”

“Well, you should stop caring about me.”

“No.”

Ethan crossed his arms and gave Norman a stare that said he was not conceding.

“If you really care about me, then why can’t you let me make my own choices, do what I want?”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

Norman didn’t mean to raise his voice, but it came out like that.

“Then why won’t you let me care about you?”

Norman just sat there in silence. Not only because Ethan was practically yelling at this point, but also because he really didn’t have anything else left to say. Ethan played the ultimate card.

Norman sighed and tried not to cry.

“It’s okay to cry.”

He turned to Ethan who also had tears in his eyes. Ethan leaned down to hug him, calling a truce.

Then, Ethan leaned in to kiss Norman. Initially, he accepted - blame it on his dizzy head - but then he pulled back.

“Don’t do this to Madison.”

Not that Norman particularly cared about Madison, but he cared about whatever - and whoever - Ethan liked.

“I broke up with her.”

“What? Why?”

“She said I shouldn’t come here.”

Norman was about to say, “See?” when Ethan cut him off, “Don’t. I can make my own choices.”

Norman held up his hands in surrender.

“I’m glad, actually, she really showed her true colors. Doesn’t care about anyone other than herself. I can’t believe I brushed off what she said about Shaun.”

“What did she say about Shaun?!” Norman was no longer on her side.

“She was talking about wanting to have a baby with me, and I said that I wasn’t sure I wanted another kid. I already have one - had two.”

There was a pause, acknowledging the part that didn’t need to be said.

“She said it wouldn’t be the same thing. That she wanted her own kid. That I would be happy that way, too. That I should leave Shaun with Grace. She said it would help me with ‘my trauma from this incident’.”

“Bullshit excuse.”

“I know.”

“I normally would never say this about a woman, but she’s a bitch. I can’t believe she’d say something like that about Shaun.”

“She was never very good with him anyway. They never really got along - not like you two do.”

“He’s easy to get along with.” Norman smiled and then followed it up with, “He gets it from his dad.”

“Are you trying to flirt with me?”

Norman feigned innocence. “Just trying to break the tension.”

Ethan gave him a stern look that eventually broke into a bashful grin.

“She didn’t deserve you.”

“And to think - I thought she was outta my league.”

“Pssh - you’re way more attractive than she is.”

“Seems like you’re doing better.”

“Now that you’re here.”

Ethan rolled his eyes, but his pink cheeks betrayed him.

Ha! Still got it.

June 2012

Norman was doing well. He flushed the last vial of Tripto down the toilet at Ethan’s house, so that Ethan could verify. Physically, things were worse at first - he had the shakes, the sweats, the shivers - you name it, Norman felt it. But, then it got easier, the symptoms lightened up. Tripto wasn't constantly in the back of his mind, especially when he was with Ethan. Ethan made him feel better than Tripto ever could.

They had to tell Shaun at some point. It was always going to come up. The conversation ended up being less awkward than expected.

Shaun had caught the two of them kissing. It was nothing pornographic, just a peck on the lips, but it still felt a little embarrassing.

Norman excused himself from the room to get a glass of water, hoping this could just be a father-son talk.

Dinner was ready within the hour, and Norman wasn’t going to be an asshole and skip dinner. Plus, Ethan’s cooking was too good to miss out on.

So, Norman sat there with his hands in his lap like he was in a job interview, awkward smile and all, while Ethan went full dad-mode.

Allowing Shaun to just ask questions turned out to be the right approach.

“Does this mean you’re gay, dad?”

“Uh, well, I think that some people don’t have a gender preference. Would it be bad if I were gay?”

“No. One of the kids in my class has two dads, and they’re both gay.”

Then Shaun turned to Norman and asked, “Does this mean you’re gay, Agent Jayden?”

Norman almost choked on his water, not because it was a particularly shocking question - at least, it shouldn’t have been given the topic of conversation.

“Sorry if that’s a stupid question.”

In a way, he would’ve assumed it was, but Norman forgot that not everyone knew that about him.

He felt bad for laughing, so once he was done coughing, he said, “Sorry for laughing. It’s not a stupid question. I just didn’t expect it. Yes, I am.”

“Does that mean you’re boyfriend and boyfriend?”

They hadn’t really established that yet.

Ethan grabbed Norman’s hand and said confidently, “Yeah, I think it does.”

And Norman didn’t even have a chance to object. Not that he would have.

Now that Madison was gone, the newly official couple, thanks to Shaun, who had no idea what he’d facilitated - could be affectionate. Even to a certain extent around Shaun because no one needs to see their dad kissing anyone. But when Ethan and Norman are alone at night, and they are a lot after Norman moves in.

He was planning on getting a new job anyway, so when the opportunity arose, it was an easy choice. The FBI had only ever taken, not given.

Ethan was the opposite.

Ethan's first "I love you" to Norman wasn't a spoken one, as "I love you's" rarely are. He wrote love letters in forehead kisses, packed lunches, and gentle, reassuring squeezes of his hand through all of life's anxieties. They were both so different, but one thing they had in common was how hard they both loved - it was the type of love that seemed almost impossible, dangerous, reckless, unstoppable, terrifying and glorious love.

July 2012

On one entirely typical night, when Norman gets bored of whatever TV show they’re watching and leans over to kiss Ethan, Ethan is allowed to kiss him back without hesitation. No one has to pull away and pretend to be sorry about it.

When they do pull away, Norman puts his arm around Ethan.

Knowing Norman isn’t the one to normally initiate affectionate touches, Ethan asks, “What’s up, Norman? Is there some sort of confession or apology I should be waiting for?”

“I’m not Madison.”

Norman hoped the joke would go over well and it did.

“Thank god,” Ethan muttered.

“I was just hoping I could convince you to change the channel,” Norman admitted.

“You don’t like this show?”

“I’ll level with you here, Ethan. I will offer you something very special in return, if you change the channel.”

“I thought a member of law enforcement would be against such bribery,” Ethan mockingly chided him.

“What can I say? I’m a corrupt cop.”

“Always have been.”

“You bring out the worst in me.”

They locked eyes and smiled, knowing that was the biggest lie of all time.

#heavy rain #norman jayden #ethan mars #miss oranje fics

5 notes · View notes

icallhimjoey · 9 months

Note

not really a director's cut but could you please show us your favorite little moments from your bookstore!joey?

OH MAN are you ready to fall in love ???????

here we go

from Like A Poem part 2, where he picked up a book of which he'd seen the film already the day before and came in to tell us he finished it already: It was only the next day, the third day in a row of seeing him, when he had come in just before you were about to close. You had just tipped a full mug of tea over yourself, and were using a rag to feverishly blot it out of your white top when the bell from the door had startled you. It was Joe, and he seemed in a rush. He hadn’t let go of the door-handle and just hovered in the entrance, his weight mostly on the leg that had stepped the furthest into your store. You had seen other people behind him, waiting for him out on the pavement. “You were right. It was better than the film.”

from Like A Poem part 3, where we've not seen Joe come in for a while and then he suddenly rushes in and buys a book without even checking what it is: “I’ll have this one.” Joe hadn’t even seen what he had given you and he looked at you like a giddy schoolboy. He seemed a little out of breath, not quite panting, but his breathing was loud through flared nostrils. A little confused, you took it from his hands and checked to see what it was. “Oh, um, I think you’ve bought this one already, when you-” you were cut off by Joe quickly picking up another random book. “This one, then.” His grin seemed a bit wild to you, and you saw his neck was flushed. You squinted at Joe, your brow furrowed slightly. He deserved suspicion for his actions, but you told yourself again; Joe was merely a paying customer and so you refrained yourself from questioning him and rung him up. When handing over Joe’s purchase along with his receipt, he had taken the book and had held it high above is head in his right arm like a trophy he had just won as he had walked out.

from Like A Poem part 4, where Joe finds the store closed and finds us crying inside and recreates the first time you met: Joe knew from the moment he laid eyes on your face that it couldn’t have been just a book. Something was wrong, and every fiber in Joe’s being screamed at him to fix it. You didn’t know what to do, but when Joe nodded his head towards the door, you made your way over to unlock it. Joe was allowed in, you decided. “You’re closed.” Joe said when you opened the door for him. You nodded; glad it wasn’t a question that needed an answer from you. Joe felt his chest tighten when he heard how erratic your breathing was. “I was looking for a mensroom.” Joe reminded you of the first time he’d walked into the store months ago. You couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth a little, your eyes still wet. “We have-” your stuttered breath interrupted your speech. “We have one in the back.” You replied the way you’d done back then and stepped aside to let Joe in, locking the door back up behind him.

from Like A Poem part 5, where Joe doesn't know the best way to comfort us and offers us his hand to hold: He moved his lower arm to splay over the armrests, wrist up and palm open. You looked at it for a second, blinking tears into your eyelashes. Joe then impatiently tapped his knuckles against the leather twice as his fingers stretched out more, motioning for you to grab hold of them. And so you did. You slowly slotted your fingers together, and Joe closed his hand around yours, squeezing it tightly. It helped. Joe soothingly started rubbing his thumb slowly over yours and turned his attention back to the page he was reading. After a while, when he felt all tension had slowly faded from your hand, Joe let go of his grip to let his fingers play with yours. He traced the lines in your palm, twirled his fingertips around yours and drew lines down the lengths of them, all the way down to your wrist and back up. You let you head rest against the back of your chair and gazed at your hands slow dancing around each other. It was hypnotizing and reduced the anxiety you felt in the pit of your stomach.

from A Lot Like Love part 2, where Joe has kissed us three times: The third time Joe had kissed you was in front of Anne and a couple of browsing customers. Joe had seen an order sheet for new releases and had been really excited for a particular book he’d heard about. He had wanted to pre-order it online but had last minute decided he’d just get it from your store when you’d get it in. The day it had arrived, you had kept the copies back on purpose, and Joe had walked in and stalked his way over to the display where you’d normally put the new releases out. You’d seen him search for it, double checking for fear he had missed it by accident. But it wasn’t there. He had pouted when he couldn’t find what he was looking for, and then he’d looked at you with quizzing eyes. But you’d been ready for those eyes, leaning your elbows on the counter, holding your head up on one hand and a copy of the book he was looking for in the other. Out of pure excitement, Joe had grabbed you by the face with his elbows sticking out widely and had planted a big smacker right onto your lips with a loud comical kissing sound. They were followed by excited giddy squeals and giggles as he had launched his body at an armchair to immediately start reading.

from A Lot Like Love part 4, where we've just seen the pic that was taken of us and Joe takes us home: And so, you’d gotten dressed, smoothed your hair and both headed out the door quietly as to not wake up Joe’s flat mate. On your way to the bus stop you had refused to hold Joe’s hand after he’d offered it to you, instead crossing your arms over your chest as you braced the cold dark of night. It’s not that you didn’t want to hold his hand, it’s that you were now too aware of possible ramifications of it all. Joe had in turn stopped a taxi and had climbed in with you, and you had wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to do that, that taking the bus really was fine, but when you were both sat in the backseat, Joe had reached for your hand to hold and you realized that it was something Joe needed and not necessarily something he was doing for you.

from A Lot Like Love part 4, where we fall asleep in the store and Joe tells us he loves us for the first time: You woke up a couple of hours later, aching from having been sat in the same position for too long. Joe was fast asleep, and you were sure he was actively hurting his neck the way his head was slumped to the side. But he looked so peaceful. Almost too peaceful to wake him up to drag him up the stairs and into bed with you. You used a finger to touch his face, tracing the lines of it which slowly tickled him awake. “You’re so pretty," you whispered sincerely when you saw Joe’s eyelids start to flutter, and you hoped he was awake enough to remember your words because you thought them a lot, but had not properly told Joe before and you wanted him to know. “I love you,” Joe whispered back with his eyes still closed, and your eyes widened at the shock of his confession. “No, you don’t.” you were quick to argue, your voice still a whisper. Surely Joe was still dreaming, drunk on sleep, mind still hazy and he’d mistaken the warmth he felt radiate from you for something it wasn’t. That’s what you had to chalk it up to. You love the store, you thought. You love spending time with me. But then Joe’s arms tightened around you, and he said, “Okay. Then I don’t."

and lastly, from A Lot Like Love part 5, where Joe tells us about the first few times he knew he loved us: “I’m going to say more scary words. Embrace yourself.” Joe said with a slight smile, and it instantly released more nervous, frantic butterflies in the pit of your stomach. “The first time I loved you was when you silently placed a cup of coffee next to me. I had just started wondering if I was overstaying my welcome, and then you just gave me a hot drink.” You silently blinked at Joe. “The second time I loved you was when I was talking about you with your grandfather, and we looked at you and your mother hard a work for a little while.” As you listened to Joe, the hot chocolate inside your chest was bubbling, threatening to tip over into the rest of your body and seep out of it, into the bed. Joe wasn’t done yet, though. “The third time I loved you was when you called me Mr Quinn and gave me your phone number. I stuck that piece of paper in my wallet, and I’ve still got it in there. And the fourth time I loved you was when we had the photoshoot here and we were out front and I could see you in the breakroom, working behind your laptop and singing along to my playlist, just in your own world, undisturbed by whatever we had going on.” Joe reminisced, looking up at the ceiling as he vividly remembered the sight of you. “After that… all the times I’ve loved you sort of pile together into a big, sticky ball that bounces around my body when I look at you.”

#im sorry there's so much #there's more too #i didnt even delve into 'a whisper away'#or the one shots i did for it #my GOD i miss this joey #and he's not even REAL #:(((((

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