maybe it was a good thing that the cute librarian with the fluffy hair and the shiny-toothed smile only asked you out for that one night.
it shouldn't have bothered you how often he checks his phone while you're talking to him over drinks, his shifty eyes and body language, how quickly his mood changes from bored and detached to avidly responding to everything you say.
it makes your heart do flips to hear his charming, diplomatic voice, so you ignore the unsettled feeling in your stomach.
and you savor it when he gets you under him, all breathy grunts and whimpers when he's bucking his hips into you.
even though his eyes stay shut and his lips make unrecognizable shapes, your hips shift instinctively to let him fuck you deeper, each beat sending ripples of pleasure through your body.
the rhythm of joe's cock pumping in and out of your insides feels like pure desperation, possesion. it knocks the wind out of your lungs and leaves you feverish and squealing his name.
but when you wake up in an empty bed the next morning with nothing but a well-meaning farewell note on your nightstand, something in your chest feels shattered, like your heart was porcelain slipping from his fingers.
but that ache would subside. you started going to a different library, seeing other people, and you haven't seen or heard of joe since the night you spent together. eventually he's nothing but a distant memory. one fling, a meaningless ghost of your past.
it stops bothering you that he only needed you to get off that one night, but how never find out how truly lucky you were that joe didn't end up falling in love with you.
[regards... idk something random bc i was thinking about him!!! i gotta finish my fucking wips.]
A/N: Omg I wrote this like a year ago when I was pissed off Love wasn't in season 5, haha! But then I read it this morning at like 3am when I couldn't sleep and it wasn't that bad so I'm posting:)))))
Time all blends into a meaningless eternity of nothing when you’re in a cage.
Is this how RIP Guinevere Beck felt...?
Every day, every minute, every fucking second…exactly the same?
But this is your life now, and nothing can change that, just as the walls will never change. And despite your best efforts…neither will you.
You wonder sometimes how easy it would be to end it. To take your chances on the other side...
Because it's only when the world falls into a state of darkness and silence so still that you can find a sense of something in all this nothing. That you can finally be loved again.
If only in your dreams.
You used to be plagued with nightmares...and in a way you still are. Curfew is early but, for once in your life, you don’t want to stay up. Unable to bear being alone for another agonizing moment.
When you close your eyes, you try not to think of every lover in the world holding one another as they sleep, their futures full of hope and within reach.
You're always tired now, so it doesn’t take long before she’s there…forever a light in your dark, dark world. She is love personified; pure and youthful, forever in her prime with the entire world in the palm of her hand.
She is Love. Uppercase.
And if there is one thing Love has shown you through all this tragedy and all this loneliness, it is that love is patient and love is kind. And every night like clockwork, Love proves that she is also loyal.
In your dreams, Love is the one in bed and when she sees you…she smiles. Her soft, bare feet slip out from beneath the skirt of her dress. As white and pure as your future felt once upon a time.
Oh, how you wanted your children to hear your story...
“Joe!”
And there it is. That voice. As beautiful and full of life as ever and your name should not taint her words. Ruin those perfect lips.
And yet, she’s not afraid of it. She’s not afraid of you.
Because Love knows that real love is messy. It’s bloody and guttural. Real love shatters you...
And when she holds her hand out to you, you take it allowing her to guide you to your knees.
“Love, I-“
You want to explain, to apologize, to take it all back.
You just want her to know that you never stopped loving her. Not really.
But she presses a finger against your lips and everything else in the whole world disappears. If only for this moment.
“I’m here now.”
And you don’t say anything. You can't. Because she is here. Now.
And now is not like every other day, every other minute, every other insignificant fucking second of your pathetic existence.
Now is Love.
When she falls back against the pillows, you follow. How could you not? You climb on top of her like you have so many times before…like you never will again.
It all seems so long ago…happier times. Just you, your wife, and Henry. Oh, Henry...
Her hair is slightly messy as it fans across the silken sheets, she was never one who tried to be too perfect. Unafraid of her own flaws. And when you look into her eyes you see only love…a love you will never have. One, you realize, you never stood a chance at having.
You're afraid to touch her. Like you could break a dead woman's heart. Or your own if you realize this is just a dream and she’s not really here…not even on the same fucking planet as you and you’ll wake up.
It’s like she knows what you're thinking, there are no secrets with Love and she smiles sweetly, her hands finding their home in your hair.
There's no blood on her hands...not anymore.
“You can’t break me, Joe. Touch me.”
But you shake your head, her face becomes blurry behind a film of tears.
She’s not yours to touch anymore. You had made sure of that.
“I’m sorry, Love. I’m so sorry.”
You sob like the child you are. The child who scared his own mother away...the man who murdered his wife and so many others.
Love only pulls your face closer to hers…that smile still gracing those soft, pink lips. You can’t remember the last time you smiled.
“I don’t do apology assault, Joe. You know this.”
It’s a joke but it’s not a joke because she’ll never know how sorry you truly are. For you, for her…for what could have been.
“You showed me real, true love, Joe.” She tells you and you didn't just let her go...you destroyed her.
“Beautiful and tragic and…deadly. We should be so lucky.”
When she kisses you, the illusion begins to crack.
Even in your dreams, her lips are ice cold…deathly so.
And you remember the tears, her hand going limp in your own. You remember the fire and pull away from the kiss. She wipes the tears from your face.
“I miss you so much. I’m so alone.”
This time, when you look into her eyes…there is no love, only pity.
“I know, Joe.”
And it’s the beginning of the end. It’s time to wake up. You cry harder. Longing to stay in the cruel embrace of what could have been.
“No, please. I don’t want to wake up.”
“It’s okay, Joe.” She whispers, caressing your cheek. “Real love doesn’t evaporate…I’m with you always.”
But you had only promised till death do you part and you lower your head, pressing yourself against her breasts where there is no heartbeat beneath the delicate skin. Your fingers dig into her waist, refusing to let go. Wanting to hold on.
Her arms tighten around you for just a moment, her fingers curling further into your hair, just like before you took everything from her and you realize now... she wasn't ready either.
“I wolf you always…”
You don't even get to say it back before she's gone.
You're alone again, holding a pillow drenched in your tears and left with nothing but the ghost of a love that was never really yours to keep.
warnings: mentions of food, eating disorders, calories and anxiety surrounding that stuff. It's pretty vague but if that's triggering, please don't read.
It’s only toast. The same two pieces of toast you’ve been eating for breakfast every morning for weeks now.
They were safe. Familiar. And yet, today, they were fucking terrifying.
You chew your fingernail anxiously, beginning to wonder just how much peanut butter you had put on. Tilting your head slightly, your breath hitches; the layer was definitely thicker than yesterday.
“All good?”
Your head snaps toward Joe, seated at the other side of the small kitchen table. You hum, giving him a tight-lipped smile and wondering just how long he’d been watching you instead of eating his cereal.
“Yeah,” you lie, quietly pushing a banana slice onto your plate. Joe shouldn’t notice if you skip those today. But something flashes behind his eyes, and they follow your hand when you wipe your sticky fingers on a napkin, and, fuck, the honey you added because "it tasted better". Empty fucking calories.
Looking back down at your plate, your stomach twists sickly. You didn’t even want to think about the calories. But before you can stop it, you’re already making calculations. Your heart beats loudly in your ears, and you vaguely hear Joe calling your name. But you can’t do it anymore.
Standing abruptly, you grab your plate and move straight for the garbage can.
But before you can rid yourself of your breakfast, Joe intercepts you, grabbing you carefully and steadying the plate in your grasp. You look at him with teary eyes, ashamed and embarrassed that he has to witness this. You open your mouth to explain, but he beats you to it.
“You have to eat,” He tells you softly, but you shake your head quickly, your panic only increasing. “I can’t. Not today.”
“Okay, okay.” Joe stalls your panic momentarily by seeming to agree with you, but then he gently takes the plate from your hands. “But what happens when today becomes tomorrow, and then the next day?”
You know he’s right, and you blink quickly, a few tears running down your cheeks. You wipe them away. “It won’t.”
But you don’t even believe yourself. He sees this and gives you a sad smile, nudging your shoulder towards your chair, “C’mon.”
Your panic starts up again, and you stiffen. “No, Joe, I’m serious. I can’t.”
“I'm not asking you to eat right now.” He says, hating the distrustful look on your face. He sets the plate back down. “Just sit down.”
You sniffle, glancing once between the kitchen chair and Joe’s loving eyes. Releasing a slow breath, you choose to trust him, and finally, you nod, taking a seat. He gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, moving to stand behind you.
“What are you-?” But you’re cut off when his palms settle over your eyes. Everything goes dark. And, for that moment, there is no more toast, or calories, or fear. Just the two warm hands blocking the rest of the world out.
“Hey, you,” Joe whispers, sending a shiver down your spine when his lips brush against your ear. You hate the effect his voice has on you, even more so in your moment of blind vulnerability. Your voice is weak when you respond, “Hi, Joe.”
“It’s too early for you to be this sad.” He says, softer this time. You swallow thickly around the lump in your throat. “I-I know.” Your voice cracks pathetically, and Joe kisses your temple. “I want us to try something, okay?” You nod, no longer trusting your voice to speak.
“I want you to tell me something you can feel.”
You know what he’s doing, and huff. “This won’t work.” But Joe ignores you, stroking his thumbs once along your hairline while waiting patiently for your response.
“Okay…” You start, reluctantly bringing your attention to your surroundings. You feel the soft cushion of the chair beneath you, the material of your sleep shirt clenched tightly in your hands. You take another deep breath and release your shirt, folding your hands in your lap. Hands. You feel Joe’s hands over your eyes. You smile softly to yourself, zeroing back in on that sensation. “Your hands.”
“Good,” you hear the smile in his voice when he says it. “Now. What can you hear?”
You relax further in your seat, his voice soothing you. “Your voice.” Joe readjusts slightly beside you, keeping his palms firm over your eyes. “What else?” He asks.
You think for a moment, reluctantly tearing your attention away from Joe to the soft sounds of the morning. Dogs barking, the soft hum of the refrigerator. You didn’t want to think about the refrigerator…and then you hear the melodic tweeting outside. “Birds. I hear birds outside.”
“Peaceful, right?”
You nod, “Yeah. I like birds.”
Joe laughs softly at your comment. “Okay, almost done,” he says, and you feel a pang of disappointment, wanting to stay like this, in the darkness, forever.
“Is it something I can smell?” You ask, leaning into Joe when his soft curls brush against the side of your head. His mouth stays level with your ear. “Yeah. What’s something you can smell?”
You inhale deeply, filling your lungs with the crisp morning air; slightly burnt toast, fresh coffee, a new day. But Joe was so close that his safe, familiar scent was all you wanted. “You…” you say again, biting down on your lower lip to stop yourself from smiling before you add, “Did you brush your teeth?”
“Oh, you’re hysterical.”
You giggle, “I was just kidding.”
“Uh huh,” He hums, unconvinced, shifting so only one of his hands covers both of your eyes, “I want you to taste something for me.”
You don’t realize how relaxed you’ve gotten until you suddenly tense again, “Joe-” “Everything’s fine,” he cuts you off swiftly, his breath now hot on your face. You try to peek through his fingers, wanting to meet his gaze, but you are still blinded. “We’ll start with this…” his voice is lower, closer, and before you can protest, his lips press lightly against yours. It takes a moment, but you melt into the kiss, instinctively leaning forward and tasting him more fully.
Coffee and Frosted Flakes.
Joe pulls back too soon, his hand dropping to your wrist and gently guiding your hand forward. You don’t fight, your body still buzzing with the kiss.
“Just a bite,” he tells you as your hand finds the plate. Your fingertips quickly learn the different textures of the toast. It somehow feels less scary in the darkness.
Feeling braver, you start to lift the toast but hesitate. “I’m right here,” Joe reminds you, nudging your hand closer to your mouth. You take a bite quickly, wanting to get it over with, and chew slowly as Joe helps you set the rest down. He takes your hand in his, bringing your attention back to him, and suddenly you could hardly remember why you were even scared.
“Well?” Joe asks, and you swallow thickly, nodding. “It’s...good.”
Gently, you pull his hand away and your eyes finally meet. You smile at him, "Thank you." Joe returns your smile, watching as you pick the toast up again, "Everytime."
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