this was inspired by @linaxart's art of joe bc i couldn't stop thinking about it this morning. enjoy
It sounds dramatic when he says it, like he's overexaggerating, but it's true: Joe can't sleep without him.
Not well, at least. He sleeps curled around a pillow, just to be holding something, but it's not the same. Like that, he only manages a few hours at a time, and what little sleep he gets is fitful. He's been exhausted for days. It's like his brain recognises that there's something missing, something that he can't truly rest without.
Nicky had called yesterday, after almost a week of radio silence, having finally reached a place he could safely call from. Most of their conversation had been about the job, information that Joe had passed onto Andy after Nicky hung up, but Nicky had promised to be home soon. So Joe is waiting for him, having already finished his part of the job.
It shouldn't still be this way, really. They've been together for 900 years. Joe shouldn't still feel this unsteady whenever they're apart, and yet he does. He knows Nicky's the same way.
Joe's in the kitchen for now, baking just to have something to do with his hands, half focused on kneading the dough and half focused on wondering what Nicky's doing right now, if he's finished the mission already, or if he'll call tonight to say I'm sorry, tesoro, I need a few more days.
He gets his answer when the doorbell rings. Joe's heart skips a beat, even as he leaves the dough on the counter and reaches for the gun on the kitchen table. Better to be safe, after all.
He doesn't need it, in the end, because when he opens the door, Nicky is on the other side, looking just as exhausted as Joe feels. Joe sets aside his gun, his shoulders sagging with the relief of seeing him again, before pulling Nicky into the apartment and into his arms, tucking his face into the crook of Nicky's shoulder and breathing easily for the first time in days. Nicky kicks the door shut, or at least Joe assumes he does, before his arms circle Joe's waist to hold him just as tightly. They don't speak, not for a long time, just stand like that without even bothering to move properly into the apartment.
"Is it done?" Joe asks, his voice muffled.
Nicky's hand strokes along his spine. "Yes," he replies. "Andy and Nile?"
"Said they'd be back tomorrow," Joe says. They've all been apart for too long - it'll be good to see them again. Nicky hums, and something settles back into place.
"I missed you," he says softly. "I haven't been able to sleep, either."
Eventually, they part, albeit reluctantly. But they stay close: Joe finishes off the dough while Nicky sits at the kitchen table, looking half asleep. Once the dough is proving, Joe decides the rest of the world can wait for a while and offers Nicky his hand. Nicky takes it, smiling. Joe pulls him to his feet and leads him to their bedroom.
And when they lie down and Joe curls around his back, holding him tight, the last remnants of the tension Nicky had been holding disappear. Joe can't see his face like this, but he knows he's smiling.
Could you tell us about Booker and Nicky's friendship too?
we really don’t talk about these two enough
petty motherfuckers
esp petty with each other
oh sorry booker no i didnt know i left a knife on the bed or no nicky i wasnt aware those were your leftovers
nicky and booker butchering each other’s languages when they’re annoyed at the other, and some very americanized pronunciation of the word ‘croissant’ on nicky’s part
will argue about the dumbest shit ever and will go to extreme lengths to prove themselves correct which is how the team ended up in southern mexico so nicky could prove what color the safehouse walls are
sorry nicky but joe agrees with booker that they are more green than brown, and no way he can argue with joe
consistently compete and feel the need to one up each other (hence the bets) and it’s resulted in many rules because andy is sick of their shit
one time they bet who would win in a race down the stairs of the eiffel tower, nicky tripped booker who promptly fell all the way down and died on impact
after an extremely loud argument in several languages they went again and booker won but nicky refuses to pay him because booker's height is an unfair advantage (its been 50 years)
if joe and booker are the worlds best bullshitters, nicky and booker are the "fuck around and find out” gang
when in a situation where they’re undercover and speaking to the mark and they get any kinds of suspicious, they immediately start complaining about them and their business, putting on extreme versions of their accents to really pull the ‘pretentious european’ vibe
popular topics: their clothing, nationality, that those aren’t mints in the bathroom, the fact that their mothers are probably disappointed in them
intimidation station
nickys stare + bookers size? no one dares fuck with them on the street
as ive said before, these two are responsible for every single stray that's ever ended up in their safehouses for the nights they are there and the ones responsible for the missing money which they use to leave food out for the rest of the strays
andy has definitely come home to them covered in cat fur as nicky is on bookers shoulders trying to get one of them off the top of the cabinet
italian vs. french rivalry is real
food, language, culture, it's all fair game to insults, yes booker has been called a crusty baguette and it started a war which resulted in no less than 15 insults being banned from being used
nicky probably tries to get booker to eat healthier, bc while nicky definitely appreciates fast food, booker you can't just eat fries and whiskey please eat a single lettuce
i like to think they cook together, i think booker is probably a good cook but it’s not something he does much anymore, not since becoming immortal really but nicky shared his love of cooking and occasionally they cook something together, finding old recipes from their homelands
covers booker with a blanket anytime he wakes up early to find him passed out half off the couch but also definitely takes a picture first
love to go antique shopping, booker is a surprisingly good negotiator
NEON!!!! thank you so much for the prompt, i hope you like this silly little thing!! 💕💕
(As per your other ask lmao) Fluff 3 “Have you seen my hoodie?” “Noo.” “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”
*
Nicky is convinced Nile would be proud that the first thing he thinks upon seeing Joe’s abandoned hoodie on the floor is: ‘It’s free real estate’. And he’s so proud of himself for making her proud that he takes a picture of himself in the hoodie like she has taught him (a ‘selfpic’ or something she called it), and sends it to her with exactly that caption.
As usual, Joe is still sprawled in the bed, lost in the land of dreams. After a fond, lingering look, Nicky slips out of the room.
One coffee and some small chores later, Nicky is snuggled up on the couch, surrounded by Joe’s scent and engrossed in a book. But not so engrossed he doesn’t hear Joe wake up and stumble sleepily through their bedroom. He smiles inwardly, but keeps reading.
“Nicky?” Joe asks after five minutes of rummaging, walking into the living room. “Have you seen my hoodie?”
Nicky doesn’t even look up from his book. “No.”
A pause. Then, “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Joe comes to stand right in front of him, tugging on the hood Nicky has pulled over his head.
“This. That’s my hoodie.”
“Well, I found it on the floor, so now it’s mine.” Nicky loves the way the corners of Joe’s mouth twitch in a disbelieving but also very delighted smile. He can tell Joe likes the view.
“Would you let me shiver to death like this?” Joe asks, pulling his mouth into a pout now and rubbing his bare arms for good measure.
“I thought I was the warmth when you shiver in cold, not this hoodie.”
Joe’s eyes turn positively mischievous and suddenly he’s climbing onto Nicky and crawling along into the hoodie.
“Yusuf, love of my life and center of my universe, what in God’s name are you doing?” Nicky asks and can’t help but laugh as Joe squirms on his belly. He can’t get further in than his head, though.
“Reclaiming what’s rightfully mine! And now stop laughing, you’re making it tighter.”
“I can’t help it, it’s your beard. It tickles!”
Nicky can feel Joe grin against his skin and he knows something bad will happen exactly one second before Joe blows a raspberry right above his navel. If it was supposed to stop Nicky’s laughter, then Joe has done a very poor job.
But Joe is laughing as well, and after a soft kiss to Nicky’s skin, he comes out of the hoodie.
“Okay, you can keep the hoodie.” Joe tries to sound irritated but the twinkle in his eyes gives him away. “But under one condition.”
“Anything,” Nicky says, wiping the tears from his eyes in the aftershocks of his laughter.
“You’ll have to hold me every time I get cold.”
“Oh come here you,” Nicky says and pulls Joe into his arms, kissing his laughter onto Joe’s lips.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
heres another one of these for you all
Rating: Teen and Up
Summary:
“I have a friend, stationed somewhere else. I would give anything to know he’s okay.”
“What’s his name?” Jack asks.
“Joseph,” Nicky answers, something soft in his voice. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small frame, tilting it to show Jack the photograph inside, of a man with dark curls and bright eyes, laughing at the camera.
diabolik brain worms inspired whatever this is enjoy
there is now more to this au!
[you are here (prologue)] [part one] [part two] [part three]
The window slides open with a creak, and Joe smiles without turning around. “We have a door, you know,” he says over his shoulder.
“Just keeping you on your toes,” Nicky responds. “I could've been anyone. You're getting careless, amore.” He closes the window behind him.
It's not true, and they both know it: there's a knife in his hand that he's using to cut vegetables for dinner and two more hidden in the kitchen, within easy reach, that Joe could have used if he thought Nicky was a threat. In the earliest days of their acquaintance, he would have. But he trusts Nicky now, and besides, Joe was expecting him.
Joe still doesn't turn around, but he hears Nicky pull off his mask with his usual muttered complaints about how uncomfortable it is and laughs.
“It's less funny when you're the one who has to wear it,” Nicky grumbles, but he's not really annoyed. Joe can hear him smiling.
Joe's missed him.
With the mask off and tossed idly onto the kitchen table - Joe will complain later about Nicky not bothering to hide it well enough, but right now he's still too happy that Nicky's home to be bothered - Nicky crosses the room to stand behind Joe, wrapping his arms around Joe's waist from behind, his hand flat against Joe's stomach, nuzzling into Joe's neck. “Hi,” he murmurs.
Joe leans back into the familiar warmth, setting down his knife and closing his eyes. Nicky always gets like this after a job, especially one that requires them to be apart for a while - it's been six days since they saw each other last to go over the plan one last time, and then parted ways to maintain their cover, and Joe's missed him like a lost limb. So he's not complaining. “Hi. How'd it go?”
“Perfectly.” He feels Nicky smile against his neck as he sways them both back and forth. “They didn't suspect a thing, and you were right about the security system. You're a genius, my heart.”
Joe's smile widens. “You're beginning to make me wonder how you ever got by without me.”
“I managed not to get caught.”
“Not true,” Joe says. "Remember Milan?”
“I thought we agreed not to mention that,” Nicky says.
Joe laughs at him, but lets it go. Truth be told, he doesn't like to think about Milan much, doesn't want to think about how close he'd come to losing Nicky for good.
He turns in Nicky's arms instead of continuing with that train of thought, looping his own around Nicky's neck. Nicky smiles at him, soft.
“Do you have it with you?”
Nicky shakes his head. “I met with Andy before coming here. She'll drop the information off with Copley, Quynh will sell everything else. Booker's already working on making sure we didn't leave any traces behind. But I did bring you something.” He slides a silver ring off of his finger and holds it out between them.
Joe takes it and holds it up to the light, tilting it back and forth, studying the delicate geometric engravings on its surface, before slipping it onto his own finger. “It's beautiful, Nico. Thank you.”
Nicky smiles again. “I missed you.”
Joe (finally, he's been wanting to since he heard Nicky open the window, or scratch that, since Nicky left for Rome) kisses him.
They've come so far to be here, now, and Joe wouldn't trade any of it for the world. The close calls, the constant moving around, the time Nicky almost died in Milan - Joe thinks they were all worth it for this, for the way Nicky's hand skims over his back and comes to rest between his shoulder blades, pressing them closer.
“I talked to Andy,” Nicky says when they part. “She and Quynh will take the next job, so all we’ll need to do is be backup. And even then, that won’t be for a few months. But it’s just you and me until then.”
“Malta?” Joe asks. That carries much better memories for both of them.
Nicky grins. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
Joe leans in to kiss him again. And tomorrow they’ll need to face reality - they’ll need to leave this apartment soon, probably won’t be able to come back to Italy for a while, just to be safe, and maybe they’ll start taking jobs in a few other countries, because Copley will be able to find them something no matter where they go, but it’ll take time to get their affairs in order and the money from this job sent off to people who need it, and they’ll need to get to work soon, because law enforcement will be looking out for them and they’ll need to be careful - but for now, Joe doesn’t think about any of it. Just pulls Nicky closer.
welcome back to diabolik au everyone! in which they are actually beginning to get somewhere
Two days after his first meeting with Di Genova, and with three days left of Merrick’s deadline, Joe wakes with a sense of looming dread. He still has no idea how he’s going to manage to bring Merrick the real paintings in three days, nor does he have any real way of escaping the situation - he doesn’t imagine Merrick will let him go that easily, even if he resorts to fleeing the country.
A knock on his door draws him out of his thoughts. “Mr. al-Kaysani?” a voice asks. “I have your breakfast.”
Joe shakes his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts, takes a few breaths to steady himself, and answers. “Come in, please.”
Roberto pushes open the door, wheeling a trolley with a white tablecloth draped over it and a silver tray on top with him. He had been assigned by the hotel to assist Joe, but Joe’s barely seen him at all, and he barely speaks.
“Thank you, Roberto,” Joe says. Roberto nods and leaves the room.
Joe lifts the lid from the tray to reveal a neat-looking plate of food that Joe barely notices, because placed carefully in front of it is a small piece of paper. They were fake, is all it says.
Joe picks up the note and flips it over. The back is blank, and the note itself is made up of cuttings from what Joe assumes are newspaper articles. There’s no identifying information, but there’s only one person who could possibly have sent it.
And Joe has a sneaking suspicion that that person may be much closer than Joe had thought.
“Roberto?” he calls, standing up and opening the door. “I have a question.”
“Can I help you?” Roberto asks.
“Do you know anything about this?” Joe holds up the note. Roberto crosses the room to stand in front of him, his eyes flicking down to study the note, and Joe tracks the movement. There had been something about the man that had seemed familiar before, but now…
“What would make you think I would know anything?” Roberto asks. It’s not a denial.
“A hunch, I suppose,” Joe says. “Do you know anything about Di Genova?”
It’s a risk, one Joe wouldn’t take unless he was almost completely certain he was right. Roberto’s expression doesn’t change at all. “I have heard he is not the sort of person you would want to meet,” he says.
“And if I did want to meet him?” Joe asks.
“Why would you want to do that?” Roberto asks.
Joe decides to go for the truth. If he’s wrong - which he doesn’t think he is, but he could be - then how could this possibly make the situation he’s already in worse? “Because I am desperate,” he says, “and I think he may be the only person who can help me.”
Roberto is silent for a long time, studying Joe’s expression. “In that case,” he says finally, and this time his voice is lower, almost familiar. He reaches back to grasp something at the back of his neck, and then pulls off his face - which, Joe realises, must have been a mask the whole time - and lets his hand drop.
The man standing before Joe now is both familiar and unfamiliar at once. Joe hadn’t seen his face when they’d met before, but there’s no mistaking his eyes. Di Genova.
The thief doesn’t flinch when Joe reaches up without really thinking about it at all, when Joe’s fingertips brush his cheekbone, tracing over the lines of his face. There is a kind of danger in it, in being so close to this man who could probably kill him without even thinking, and yet the thief stays completely and perfectly still. And when he looks at Joe, something about him seems to soften around the edges - not quite gentle, but something close to it.
“I spoke to the police,” Joe says after what feels like an eternity, letting his hand drop. “Asked after an Inspector Smith. They told me that man doesn’t exist. So I wondered who could have spoken to me that night, but it was you, wasn’t it? With one of those.” He gestures to the mask in the thief’s hand. “Not exactly an infallible disguise. Did you think I wouldn’t possibly find out?”
“By the time you did, I would have been long gone,” the thief says. “If everything had gone to plan. But this is not what you wanted to talk about, is it?”
Instead of answering straight away, Joe steps away and sits down on the edge of the bed. The thief’s eyes track his every movement. He doesn’t move.
“I told you about the deal with Merrick,” Joe begins. “It’s not the first time I’ve done this kind of thing. What I do - what my friend and I have been doing for a few years - is sell fakes to corrupt businessmen with more money than morals and use the information we find on them to expose their corruption. I thought we were untraceable, but it seems Merrick traced us, or more specifically me. He knew, or guessed, the paintings were fake, and he wanted to make a new deal.”
“What kind of deal?” the thief asks, and this time he moves, crossing the room towards Joe to sit beside him.
“I have four days to bring him the real paintings. Three, now. Or he releases all the information he has on me to law enforcement. I can’t contact anyone else in time, and if I try to run, he’ll release it anyway and I’ll have to go into hiding. I don’t know of anyone who can possibly help me, except you.” He doesn’t look at the thief when he says it. “I know you have no reason to, but-”
The thief reaches over with one hand, tilting Joe’s head gently to face him. Joe is frozen at the contact, at the way the thief’s eyes flick over his expression. He doesn’t dare move.
“I will do it,” the thief says after a moment, moving his hand away. “The paintings. I can find them for you in that time. And I will take the file he has on you, too. That way he won’t be able to threaten you again.”
“In only three days?” Joe asks, half disbelievingly. “That can’t be possible.”
There’s the tiniest hint of a smile on the thief’s lips, what Joe imagines must pass as a wide grin on anyone else. “I have my ways. Have some faith, Joe.”
It’s strangely reassuring, even though it shouldn’t be. There are only inches of space between them. “And what will you expect in return?” Joe asks. “I can’t imagine you would do all of it for free.”
“Consider it a favour,” the thief says. Joe raises his eyebrows in disbelief, which makes the thief’s almost-smile widen just a little. “Is it really that unbelievable? I do not need anything from you, Joe.”
“Not unbelievable,” Joe says. “Just unexpected. Given everything that I’ve heard, some of which you told me.”
“Perhaps I have changed my mind,” the thief says. They are so, so close now, close enough that Joe could lean in and-
“What happens after?” Joe asks, largely to distract himself from that line of thought. “You said nobody knows your true face. I could go to the police if I wanted to. This could all be a trap.”
“It could be,” the thief says, but doesn't elaborate. “I will find you in two days. There is a cafe I will meet you at, and I will tell you where you can find the paintings then. That will give you enough time.”
“How will I know it’s you?”
“A code phrase. I will tell you, ‘Yusuf al-Kaysani, you are the most beautiful man I have ever met.’”
Joe takes a moment to remember how to breathe after that. And then he asks, because he can’t resist any longer, “What’s your name?”
The thief is quiet for a moment, and Joe thinks he isn’t going to answer, but then he says, “Nicolò.”
It suits him. “Nicolò,” Joe says, testing it out. There is something unreadable in Nicolò’s expression when he says it. “In two days’ time, then, Nicolò.”
“In two days’ time,” Nicolò repeats. He pulls away abruptly and stands. “I will see you then.”
Joe watches, half mesmerised, as Nicolò pulls his mask back on and seems to transform seamlessly back into Roberto. But this time when he speaks, it’s with his own voice. “Goodbye, Yusuf.”
