tags: f! reader, non-famous! reader, established relationship, joostie’s finally on a break from tour and they’re really making the most of it, we should all aspire to love and to be loved like them, just pure nauseating fluff, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.
warnings: rpf.
word count: 1,134.
notes: this is merely the equivalent of posting one of your drafts on tiktok purely just for the sake of it. i’m still very painfully stuck in this hole of not writing, but i really wanted to get something out and posted for you lot, so pretty please enjoy this incredibly brief drabble that i once wrote for @minuutvanverval <3
you don’t mind the quiet so much anymore.
it used to leave your head spinning; bits and pieces, different fragments, old, faint bad memories all seeping in through the cracks because there were no more distractions left behind to stop them. sometimes even the thought of it, being left alone to rot in silence so loud that you’d hear nothing but the ringing in your ears, it used to make your skin crawl. made it easier to chase after the noise that you so deeply craved for years upon years of your life, actually.
that’s what made it all so easy with joost. with him it was always just go go go — never stopping, never slowing down, hardly even sleeping half of the time. and for months at the start, he’d been so kind about it, reminding you almost daily that if it ever got too much for you, if you ever needed a break from it all or even just from him, then he’d understand. a different country every other day, always scheming over something, it would be a lot for anyone.
just not for you, though. you love the chaos of his everyday life, don't you? seeing the world, the creation of his art and how it breathes; simply just being a part of it even if it’s only ever from the sidelines. you live for it almost as much as you live for him, because it’s always about him, for you, isn't it?
not even a full month in, you knew that you were in love with him — that you would follow joost anywhere, at any time if he asked you to. how lucky was it for you that he actually did, because really, he’s always loved you just as much as you’ve loved him — maybe even a little more, somehow. to this day, he still tries to brag about being the first one of you to say it, the three dreaded little words that you’re never supposed to confess after such little time, just because it still annoys you that he got there first.
all those friends of his that had adopted you as one of their own, they call you his ‘partner in crime’, don’t they? and those of them that hadn’t believed in soulmates before definitely believed in them now, because of you. even after so many years together, glued to your laptops and working from inside countless different hotel rooms, or passed out and squished in the bunks of a tour bus, you’re both still so helplessly obsessed with each other.
and that was what made the quiet all themore tolerable for you now.
because as you sit here, curled up on such an uncomfortable plastic garden chair, on a hotel balcony somewhere in spain, you know that you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. the warm, early evening air gently blows past you, making you grip onto the pages of your paperback book all that much harder. it pulls the odd strand of your hair loose from the bun that sits on the very top of your head; the sun-bleached strands still a little damp from your swim together an hour or two earlier. surprisingly, despite how humid it actually was, it makes you shiver.
“cold?” joost murmurs from an old, horrible, squeaking chair of his own; his soft eyes already dancing over the goosebumps that pricks at your skin.
“i’ll warm up in a minute.”
you just don’t want to move, do you? you don’t want him to suggest moving inside, or to disappear inside himself just to grab you a hoodie — you don’t want anything to change at all, not even for a moment. because this is unbridled bliss, no matter how cold you suddenly are. you want to stay out here with this book of yours in your hands, the sound of calm, ocean waves still within earshot, and the smell of joost’s cigarette heavy inside your nose.
as you have been quietly reading, he’s been smoking yet another one of his duty-frees and doodling on his ipad. the only real noise was your phone rotating through your liked songs on spotify, as it lays almost forgotten about on the equally, and partially stained table.
and i love her — kurt cobain.
“no you won’t; come here.”
but much to your dismay, joost still starts to shift. he kicks his legs up and off the balcony railing, and swivels carefully in his seat, putting down his ipad as he does so. with wide, spread legs and a now empty lap, he pats his thighs and beckons you over as though this is the only possible solution to your problem. when you don’t move at first, still with the idea in your head that he was about to get up and walk away, joost pouts and makes grabby hands at you until he can’t contain his laughter anymore.
“cmon, you’re making me look needy now. come sit on me.”
you snort quietly underneath your breath as you stand, leaving your book to lie forgotten about too, next to your phone. “what? out here?”
“shut up, not like that.”
he hadn’t needed to ask you a third time. just as you had in your chair, you quickly get comfortable and curl up in his arms, feeling the steady beating of his heart beside your ear as you rest your head against his chest. those long, inked arms of his wrap around your waist and pull you impossibly closer, tucking you up neatly underneath his chin.
he takes a minute just to breathe you in, and nestles his cheek against your hair; he shifts again just to kiss the top of your head. “better?”
“much better.”
“hungry yet?”
“no.” — a little white lie.
your own stomach betrays you and rumbles, because neither of you have eaten since lunch. the small sound of it makes him laugh and you wiggle yourself even deeper into his hold, somehow, desperately trying to weigh him down. you know that it’s pointless because he could still pick you up, throw you over his shoulder, move you as though you weigh nothing to him. you’re just trying to make a point.
“move and i’ll cry.”
you really do love the quiet now. you treasure it, actually. you have to, considering how fleeting it always is.
“okay, okay, we’ll stay here. it’s okay.” you feel him sigh against you, and miss the sight of his eyes fluttering shut just as yours already have. “think i might fall asleep if we do, though.”
he really loves this quiet, too.
“five more minutes?”
the words come out all slurred in a way that you just can’t help, sleepy — you’re not really asking for five more minutes, are you? and you know that he knows that.
fandom etiquette as a whole died when people who didn’t grow up on fandoms became stans during lockdown, yes, but why am i seeing people openly mocking fics on twitter. why am i seeing screenshots of fics with captions like “bro what is this 😭.” why am i seeing people mock fic writers for not knowing how sports or theater or college or any other organization operates in the real world.
“college is absolutely nothing like this” “why are we writing four people on the team scoring a hat trick in one game” “so tech work is nothing like this, hope that helps!”
if you don’t like a fic, and if you can’t suspend your belief enough to enjoy a fic that exaggerates or ignores real-world orgs, you don’t have to read it. you don’t have to screenshot it and put it on blast for twitter. you don’t have to post a link to it in the replies. the back button is literally there on your phone. it’s not giving baby’s first fandom anymore, it’s giving entitled asshole and it isn’t as cute as you think it is.
stormborns
areudirty
izzy806
