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☆ about me
hi! i’m ‘L’
i’m twenty-one, a leo, and from the uk!
i loveeeeee music, creative writing, fashion, etc + in my free time i’m learning italian and dutch <3
☆ request guidelines
• a MASSIVE trigger warning will apply to most, if not possibly all of my writing. i tend to write about darker, more typically distressing themes as both a coping mechanism and a way to self-soothe. i completely understand this might not be for everyone so don’t push yourself if it’s not for you!
• since a lot of my fics are quite self indulgent, i will only be writing from an f! reader perspective so please don’t request any m! reader ideas; i’m not the right person for it <3
• there’s not a lot i won’t write really, but i draw the line at anything that involves children & pregnancy. i do not like children all that much, so not only would i not enjoy writing about them, i would also be terrible at it as well.
• lastly, i write RPF - real person fiction. as stated in my blog rules, if this makes you uncomfortable in any way then please just block me and move on. i promise you i won’t care.
☆ tagging system
#luvvergirlwrites : for my fics <3
#spillingmyguts : for any general posts just about random stuff, my personal life, etc.
in which after a bad dream on the bus, reader struggles to convince joost that he’s not the face behind her nightmares, and she’s really not as frightened of him as she seems.
warnings: dead dove (although not yet), rpf.
there are streetlights casting an orange glow across your nose, your cheeks; your eyes shine as you stare back at him. it means that he sees it when your tired smile drops into something so much sadder, and you move to sit up away from him. he sees it when your shoulders tense, and he notices it when you just can’t look at him anymore.
“no…no, i don’t. you just…you know how i am; i’m jumpy.”
joost sits up with you, and his head tips to the side. “it’s why you struggle with horror films even though you love them, so you’ll never admit it. that’s not the same thing as thinking that i’m about to hit you when i -”
despite the late hour, you just can’t stop your voice from rising. “- no one ever said anything about you hitting me, joost.”
“so then why did you flinch?” a few seconds of silence pass, only disturbed by the faint, white noise of the traffic around you. “i high-fived my friend and you reacted like i was about to right-hook you.”
“i didn’t mean to.”
“is that something that you think i’d do?”
you still won’t face him; your head still hangs low, offering him nowhere else to look than the soft, bare curve of your spine. the mess of hair that cascades down and past your shoulders. “of course not.”
“you won’t even look at me, schatje.”
“i’m tired; i’m still waking up.”
“and that means you now can’t look at me? even though that wasn’t an issue about five minutes ago?”
something in his tone flips, changes, and his voice falls a little deeper. there’s almost an annoyance that hangs off each word, which only grows the longer that you stay quiet with your back still to him. because joost just isn’t used to being shut out like this — not by anyone and not by you, of all people. he’s a helper; people talk to him and he helps. they let him help.
and you’re not letting him help. instead you’re leaving him to sit with this thought, this fear that you really do think something so horrible of him, without any possible relief whilst you simply do nothing. you’re still there beside him, but not truly there, not when he needs you to be.
quietly, he sighs, just loud enough for you to hear. you think he’s about to say something, maybe poke another small, indefensible hole in your logic when suddenly his arms raise, and he stretches. it’s still enough to get you though, isn’t it? enough to have you wincing, yelping, jerking to the side away from him, just in case.
it then only takes his surrendered plea of your name for you to finally crack, crying so hard, so violently, that you find yourself bringing the sheets up to your mouth just to try and muffle the sound. you’re too painfully aware now that there are people all around you, still tucked up and fast asleep in their bunks if you haven’t already woken them up, too. and it’s all so dramatic, so unnecessary for something that you’ve spent so long trying to forget. it comes with a guilt that almost hurts, because you know that you’re not the only one that’s hurting anymore.
Exposing my kpop account from when I was like 16 here so I can show u the pics lol!!
Was on a spontaneous trip to Amsterdam w my bestie and we saw Chrsitdillinger had a show. We were on our way but we missed it as our ferry got stuck, so we were just gonna go to the pub and have drinks. Then we saw Joost, I got to have a proper chat w him this time and I shook his hand. He was super lovely, he then signed my Heineken for me lol
So random, had no idea he was even in the county
that might the sweetest thing ever, i’m so so happy for you my lovely & thank you for sharing :3
I can't explain how much I really love your writing style. And I'm genuinely curious on what type of fanfictions are you, from requests to your own ideas, writing right now, so that I am prepared for the best of the best🤪. (But of course, if you don't want to share them yet or the titles, it's completely valid and I understand.) Again, thank you so much for your fanfictions, they mean so much to me. A lot of them genuinely bring me sm comfort.💖
thank you so so much my gorgeous!!
currently i’m working on two requests that both very much toe the line of being dead dove in their own ways, which i think is all that i’m going to say for now ;) xx
spilling my guts by saying that i love sending u fanfic ideas sm, i legit just be doing stuff and think of a scenario and i immediately open up tumblr and go to ur acc and write a request :p
(toothpaste kisses was my request ilysm for writing it!! i reread it at least once a couple of months)
oh my god you have literally been here forever!!
TK is such a special one to me because not only was it my first ever request, but the first ever smut i wrote for j.k and it was agessss ago! genuinely cannot believe that you’re still here reading my stuff and yapping in my inbox, but i’m so so happy that you are my lovely — don’t you ever stop xx
angel, do u know that covet is marked as explicit and not accessible? i think this must have JUST happened, bc i think i read it a couple of days ago
hi!! yes i am aware of this <\3
it was labelled explicit for sexual content, which i appealed because there’s nothing sexual about that fic at all, and tumblr even agreed! said the post would be restored, but it’s still blocked. i’ve sent them a report about it, and i’m still waiting for a response — think that’s all i can do rn :(
request: “I was wondering if you world write comfort maybe with some angst or if not just comfort fluff of reader on the worst violent period of their life and get upset and yell but then start crying and apologizing or something. This is probably fully self indulgent I’m on the worst period ever and need some Joost comfort. Again feel free to ignore, Thank u sm I love ur work.”
tags: f! reader, non-famous! reader, enemies to lovers, (enemies IN love), established new relationship, once again i’ve written joost to be an absolute dreamboat because i refuse to believe that he’d be anything else, even though they’re still kind of at each other’s throats a lil, lots of angst, definitely some hurt, even more comfort, mostly just some tooth-rotting fluff, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.
warnings: frequent mentions of blood, rpf.
word count: 3,091.
notes: such a cute request from @prettypinkpearlsworld — thank you so much my lovely!! it wasn’t ever my plan to fit this into the enemies au universe, but it works just a little too well, and that series deserves to be more than just two parts i think.
also very big hugs and kisses to my two very beautiful beta readers @minuutvanverval + @blueessber as always; i love you both very muchly. thank you <3
enjoy!! xx
joost stirs at the feeling of movement beside him, and then he groans from the back of his throat when his duvet disappears, and the sudden rush of cold air quietly stings his skin.
he yawns, and starts to rub the sleep from his eyes without fully opening them first. the stiff weight of his limbs fight against him because he’s still a little sore from last night, from the last few months of sleeping on a bus and back to back festivals. but he smiles at the brief, blurry sight of you above him, rushing around his room still wearing nothing but a pair of his boxers, because he just doesn’t think that you’ve ever looked better than this, does he?
“what are you doing?” the grin that pulls at his lips is clear in his voice as he stretches and struggles to open his eyes again.
“don’t look.”
immediately he freezes, frowning, confused by your panic but still keeping his eyes covered anyway. “everything okay?”
“yes, just — just keep your fucking eyes shut. please.”
you’re relieved that he listens, and then refuses to even move a muscle from where he lays on his bed, on his side of his bed, unclothed and bare of any sheets. maybe if you weren’t in your current predicament, you’d laugh and poke a little fun at how obviously cold joost is. it’s only because then another cramp tears right through you, and something inside of you feels as though it’s ruptured, that you don’t.
it feels far too soon to be doing this, to be in this situation. it’s only been a month since your brother pushed another year closer to thirty, and three weeks since he stopped speaking to you after learning that his best friend is in love and fucking his little sister. you’re still trying to adapt to all of it, to having your own draw of stuff at joost’s place, to calling him your boyfriend, and accepting the fact that you really do love him, too. enough to not even care that kaj won’t answer the phone anymore.
because it’s just all so new for you, isn’t it? a learning curve. after all, you’ve spent the last two decades despising him, and now you’re tearing open every old wound just to practice being so vulnerable around him now. now, you love him more than you know what to do with, and it’s exhausting, so bleeding all over his pretty blue bedsheets was the very last thing that you needed.
somehow you hadn’t felt it whilst you were asleep — the sharp, incessant stabbing that lies deep inside your abdomen. it wasn’t something that you were due to feel so soon either, at least according to your own calculations, and the rather ironic ‘your next period is due in 5 days!’ notification that had lit up your phone screen last night. you hadn’t felt it until it had woken you up, and you’d seen the sheer mess that laid between you.
you’re still clutching his ruined duvet to your chest, standing in the middle of his room and stuck on what to actually do with it now, when another cramp almost knocks you down. you don’t mean to double over, or to cry out as loudly as you do, but you do, and the sound of it has joost flying to sit up with his eyes still screwed up shut behind his palms.
“if i promise to not look, can you at least tell me what’s happening?”
and you find yourself holding onto his sheets even tighter, desperate to hide the smears of blood that remain between your legs as you shake your head almost furiously. “absolutely not, no. it’s nothing.”
“doesn’t sound like nothing.”
“joost!” you raise your voice just enough to make him pout. “i just need you to get up so i can change the sheets and use your washing machine, can i…can i please just do that?”
it takes him a moment or two but eventually it clicks. his shoulders drop, and that cute pout of his stretches into an even softer smile this time, because you’re just not the first girlfriend that he’s ever had, are you? nor is this the first time that someone has ever woken him up by needing to wash their bedding at the crack of dawn.
“i’m gonna look now, okay? and i’m gonna help.”
“don’t you fucking dare.”
“it’s just some blood, schat; it’s fine, it’s natural.”
“i don’t care! that doesn’t mean you need to see it.”
and it’s in spite of you, that joost then dares to drop his hands and look, anyway.
not once does his gaze shift to the large, browning stain that sits mere inches away from his hip, seeping in further to the old fabric of the otherwise clean bedsheet. instead it stays entirely fixated on you, on your face, your scowl, unwavering if you don’t count the odd not-so-subtle glance down to your uncovered chest.
“i’m seeing quite a lot right now.”
it only makes you scoff, shaking your head, his rather lame attempt at trying to make you laugh, and it’s seeing just how far underneath your skin he’s already gotten, that reins him just a little bit.
“don’t be such a child.”
“i just don’t get what the big deal is, schatje. you haven’t done anything weird, or wrong, or anything that i haven’t already seen before. it’s okay -”
“- stop saying it’s okay! it’s not fucking okay! it hurts, and it got everywhere, and just because you’re so fucking used to all of this doesn’t mean that i am too.” the furrow between your eyebrows hardens as a few hot, burning tears well up behind your eyes. it’s by the foot of his bed that you throw his soiled duvet to the floor. “since you’re just so fucking eager to clean it up — there. it’s all yours.”
and you’re already turning on your heel before he can press it, or even try to acknowledge the faint red that still sticks to the inside of each thigh. you’re turning your back on him despite how he’s calling your name, and making a mad dash for his bathroom, feet padding along the dark hardwood of his floor with every uneasy step.
whatever lies within his reach is thrown on almost haphazardly; the new pair of supreme sweatpants that he got back in LA, and a band t-shirt of yours that fits just loose enough to sit at his belly button. his ears ring when a door then slams shut, making him stumble and trip over his own heavy limbs as he stands, almost slipping over with his odd colour socks on. despite the hair that falls into his eyes, joost makes it to the washing machine in one piece, with his favourite blue sheets bundled up his arms, and throws them in alongside some stain-remover that he didn’t even know he had until he looked.
he does it all without even thinking, really. it’s muscle memory from living with his sister so much growing up — his ex, crashing at lennie and appie’s, sharing a tour bus with marleen. he knows that this happens; he knows how to clean up after it. he knows that it shouldn’t be the end of the world, so he’s not quite sure why you think that it is.
from the other end of the hall, he hears the shower start to run. he waits for a moment, thinking about what to do next, wondering if he should try to at least find something for you in his fridge in case you’re hungry, or if eating is the very last thing on your mind right now. if maybe you remembered to grab a towel on your way through to the bathroom, and if he should pick you out something clean of his to wear and leave it outside the door.
joost waits until he hears the clatter of half a dozen plastic bottles all hit the shower floor, and the hoarse groan that follows. it’s only then that he finally moves, trusting his legs to carry him as fast as they can across the kitchen, and only stops once his knuckles meet wood.
you hear your name spoken from the other side of the door, urgent and a little panicked. “what happened? you okay?”
“n-no, i’m fine. i just lost my balance.” it’s the truth, but it’s still not enough to reassure him, is it?
because he’s still barging in without another word, shutting the door quietly behind him. he’s frowning at the sight of you on your knees and in tears , surrounded by fallen body-wash and purple shampoo, because your grip on the shelf of toiletries hadn’t been strong enough to hold yourself up. when he meets your glare, he assumes that it’s because he’s there, and not because clipping your hair up to keep it dry has turned out to be fucking pointless.
“… i can’t stand up.” your lip wobbles as you admit it, your voice cracking. “every time i try to move, the cramping gets so much worse, and i don’t…”
he hates that you can’t even look at him right now.
it means that you hear the slight squeak of the shower’s glass door sliding back open before you see it, and joost then stepping into the shower with you without so much as shedding a single layer.
careful hands grip your forearms as gentle words encourage you to stand — to lean on him as much as you need to. every time that you wince because your body protests the movement, he’s in your ear encouraging big deep breaths, and making you laugh when he pretends to be someone pushing through labour. once you’re on your feet and taking fistfuls of the damp cotton that now clings to his skin, turning yourself around until your face is hidden in his chest, hugging him, he only holds you closer.
neither of you seem to mind that it makes it a little more awkward than it needs to be. how he’s holding the shower-head around your hips behind you, aiming the water down but also slightly up to wash off the stains in between your thighs. it further soaks his clean clothes, and you’re still in enough pain to be crying over it, but it gets you clean and you no longer have to be drunk to believe that he’d catch you if you slipped.
it’s by far the most agreeable that he’s ever known you to be. how for once in your life, you’re accepting help without fuss or argument, and from him, no less. because for as much as joost doesn’t doubt that you love him too, the one thing that he expected to never change was your rather annoying stubborn independence. the almost chronic need to never let anyone help you, ever.
he understood it to just be you, in the end, because in every other way, you’ve given him the privilege to watch you slowly soften around the edges. it’s just that now, you’ve become utterly pliable in his hands; dependent on him. as he watches the water at your feet fade from pink back to clear, you continue to cling onto him as though there’s a home for you inside his ribcage.
“i shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.” you punctuate the words with a small, sweet kiss to his clothed chest. “i’m sorry.”
and you’re not expecting it when joost merely shushes you, mumbling something or other about it not mattering, that it’s fine if you need to yell when you’re in so much pain, as he hangs the shower-head back up. the water switches off and he makes a reach for his dressing gown instead of the towel that you had actually remembered, and drapes it around your shoulders. it’s an act so simple, and yet thoughtful in its nature, that you just can’t help it when another frail cry escapes past your lips.
your head lifts when he steps back to let you push your arms through the thick, fluffy sleeves. that’s all he lets you do, because it’s him that’s wrapping it tightly around your middle and tying the belt together to keep it all in place. it’s him that’s gathering up each fallen, wet strand of your hair back up into the clip that now sits at the nape of your neck. he’s doting over you completely, because right now you’re letting him.
“i don’t think it’s fine; you were only trying to help.”
“schat,” your voice cracking is what gives you away first, that you’re no longer just crying because of the pain. then it’s the way that your lip wobbles, and that you won’t let go of his hands even after you’ve both stepped out of the shower. “seriously, i don’t ca-”
“- you shouldn’t let me get away with it. you’re so nice to me now and i’m still just…horrible. i’m horrible to you.”
“you had good reasons to be.”
but it only makes you feel worse, doesn’t? just how unbothered joost really is by all of this, by you. it’s not the same joost that you’re still so used to, that you grew up with, that you hated. six months ago, maybe he would have bitten your head off for yelling at him like that. maybe he would’ve just scoffed and walked away; made you feel small instead.
he wouldn’t be standing here smiling so earnestly at you, cupping your face in his hands and kissing your nose before turning on his heel to go get changed again. he wouldn’t be asking you what size pad you need because he’s already planning to fetch you some underwear once he’s no longer dripping water throughout his kitchen. he wouldn’t care about you too much to not care when you’re cruel anymore.
“you know, i meant it before. i’m not used to this, joost.”
you’ve followed him just far enough out of the bathroom to see him pause from his bedroom, now shirtless, and shaking the few droplets from his hair. “i mean, it’s only been a couple weeks, if you don’t count everything before. it’s new for the both of us.”
“i don’t just mean being with you, i mean you…and being with anyone, really.”
and then it’s from the doorway that you watch his eyebrows furrow, as he slips out of his sweats and something new and dry is pulled on in their place. “me?”
“you’re not who you were, and i don’t know if i can keep up with it. because you’re good, and you’re kind — you’re the ‘joost’ that i’ve always had to hear about from other people because i never even believed that he existed, and i’m still just me. i still feel weird when you’re nice to me sometimes, and i’m still not sure how to be so open with someone else because i’ve never had to be before. it’s all so new for me, and you’re making it look too easy. it feels like i’m already losing!”
“losing at what, schatje? tell me.” it’s the first time that you’ve heard him sound so upset since you last tried to walk away; break his heart. “because none of this is a competition. there’s no race to see who can be the best at this relationship first.”
when you scoff and roll your eyes, it’s only to avoid confronting the tears that are welling up in his eyes. the frown that tugs at the far corners of his lips, as he takes a few steps closer to you. “you can say that because you’re winning.”
“there’s nothing to win! we’re already a team! we’re together — that’s what we wanted, right?”
“yes! of course it is -”
“- so then what’s the problem? because it’s starting to sound like you don’t know if you want this anymore.”
“i do! i just don’t know if i’m good enough for you!”
joost doesn’t miss a beat. he’s sniffs through a snotty nose as he hands you a pair of his boxers with a pad already stuck neatly on the inside. “well you don’t get to decide that for me.”
“joost…” your voice catches on the cry that’s lodged somewhere deep inside the back of your throat, choking you.
“you spent almost our entire lives deciding that i hated you, and then that i could only ever want you for sex. even as you told me that you loved me for the first time, you tried to decide there and then that it wouldn’t work. you don’t get to try and decide this for me too; you don’t get to stand there and tell me that you’re not good enough for me, when you’re everything that i’ve ever fucking dreamt of!”
“okay!”
the silence that follows is thin, almost hollow, disturbed by heavy, laboured breathing and sniffling. it’s with wide-eyes that you both watch the other one slowly grow still, shoulders dropping as the last of your tears start to dry. you don’t move until joost walks back to sit on the very edge of his bed; you mirror him by standing just between his legs.
“okay?”
he still helps you change by taking back his boxers and holding them out for you to step into. your hands find his biceps and latch on to keep you steady, because you’re still letting him help you.
“okay, i’ll believe it when you say that i’m good enough, but you don’t have to fucking shout about it.”
the way that he laughs is nothing short of pure. “coming from you? funny.”
“hey!” and joost thinks it’s quite cute, the way that you pout then. he stands up just so that he can see it on your face a little better. “i apologised for that.”
“i know, baby.”
it’s moments like these that you honestly feel a little shy around him, isn’t it? because there’s no way to deny the look of soft adoration in his eyes now that he towers over you. the subtle heat that rushes to your face as he finally meets your lips, and you taste the salt that still lingers there. it’s yet another reminder of just how much you’ve changed him, or maybe how he’s changed you without you ever noticing. he really will love you anyway.
“i’m gonna work on it.” you say it without averting your gaze; you need him to know just how much you mean it.
i think it is so jester!joost and princess!reader 💖
wahhhhh anon you’re so right!!
he would genuinely need so much convincing to let her even try something like that, but when he finally sees his princess on her knees for him, staring up at him all smiley ……. oh he’d die actually
