urgh this looked better in my head

anonymous asked:

How bout a slightly bloated and nauseous Damian getting stomach rubs and back pats from one of his mates to help him burp but ends up getting sick? Ahhh I love u and ur writing u have no idea!!! 💕💕

A/N: So! I’ve had this prompt sitting in my inbox for quite some time now, and as @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak and I were chatting about the end of Damian’s Coeliac Saga, this prompt came to mind, so I am dubbing it the epilogue as it’s set when they’re at university!! Thanks anon for the compliment - I hope you enjoy!! 😊😊

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 |


Pfffft!” Damian collapsed heavily onto the low sofa in their flat kitchen, resting his head back briefly with his eyes closed.

“Alright?” Cain asked, raising his head from the doodle that he’d been staring at while he ate his dinner. “How was your medic’s function?”

“Long…” Damian muttered, shifting around on the sofa as though trying to get comfortable. “And full of pompous prats floating through on daddy’s money.”

 “Oh dear, not worth going to then?” Cain suggested and Damian made a non-committal noise in this throat. “Where are Aleks and Zara?”

“Zara was too busy drinking – free wine…” Damian mumbled, rubbing his hands across his face. “And Aleks went – to meet Murray.” Cain looked across at his friend it was unusual for him to be so quiet, and the pauses in his speech pattern only made it more noticeable.

“Are you alright?” Cain asked, placing his pencil down from his doodle that had spread across his A4 sheet.

“Mmmmm…” Damian hummed, wriggling around on the sofa. “Brrrrraaaaaauuuuuurrrrp!” Damian covered his mouth as a deep belch rolled out of him.

“I’m gonna take that as a no…” Cain said, rising from his place at the table and crossing to sit on the sofa next to Damian, who was still shifting in discomfort around the sofa. “What’s wrong?”

“Aah – oh – I’m sorry…” Damian forced out, one of his hands moving to his stomach as his face screwed up in pain. “Oh!”

“Damian?” Cain put his hand to Damian’s shoulder as his friend suddenly curled forward, both of his arms wrapping protectively around his abdomen. “Okay, Damian, you need to talk to me otherwise I’m going to call an ambulance.” Concern was bubbling through Cain as Damian let out a low moan as he shook his head.

“I think…” Damian started to force out, and Cain could hear his teeth grinding as he fought against the pain. “Oh God… I’ve eaten something – with wheat.”

Understanding flourished through Cain as Damian rocked back and forth, trying to soothe the cramp in his stomach.

“Oh no!” He exclaimed, but couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved that it wasn’t something more serious. “What can I do to help?”

“There’s… There’s a hot water bottle in my room,” Damian groaned, “can you get it – for me?”

“Of course,” Cain nodded instantly, springing up from the sofa. “I’ll only be a moment.” Cain practically sprinted through to Damian’s bedroom, and grabbing the hot water bottle he ran back. “I’ll fill it up… Can I get you anything else? Would painkillers help?”

“N – no…” Damian shook his head, still rocking a little restlessly. “They don’t work when it’s this…”

“Oh okay…” Cain was pouring boiling water into the bottle from the kettle; he felt rather helpless. Damian seemed to be in so much pain, but there was absolutely nothing he could do to help. “Here…” He fastened the lid on the hot water bottle and carried it over to Damian, who accepted it like a lifeline.

“Thanks,” he murmured, clutching the bottle to his stomach.

“Maybe you’d feel better if you lied down?” Cain suggested, indicating the length of the sofa, but Damian shook his head again. 

“Being upright helps more…” He replied, leaning back and drawing his left leg up so it was bent close to him. “Sorry Cain.”

“It’s not a problem,” Cain gushed, “I just want to do anything to help.”

“Will… you sit with me?” Damian asked. “Tell me about your day.”

“Um well…” Cain tried to think of something other than the fact his friend was writhing in pain. “I’ve got an assignment to create an environmentally friendly structure at low cost that people could reside in permanently.”

“Yeah? So what you – thinking?” There was a long enough pause between Damian’s words for Cain to know how difficult he was trying.

“I was trying to figure out if I could do a sustainable treehouse,” Cain answered, struggling not to reach out and physically comfort his friend.

“Treehouse – sounds great,” Damian nodded, one of his hands rubbing at his chest., A tight build up of pressure in his stomach made him feel like he needed to burp, but every time he tried the air snagged in his throat and wouldn’t bring any relief. “Urgh…”

“Oh Damian,” Cain grimaced on his behalf. “Are you sure I can’t do anything more to help?”

“I feel like – ugh – I need to burp but I can’t…” Damian said honestly, pressing harder into his stomach.

“Do you want me to rub your stomach for you?” Cain offered and Damian stared across at him, his eyes wide – and for a second he looked like a little kid. “Your mum used to do that for you, didn’t she?”

“Yeah…” Damian’s voice had gone weak, and his face was pale from the stress of the pain. “Would – would you do that?”

“Of course, here…” Cain gently encouraged Damian to rest his head back against the sofa, then peeled away the hot water bottle that was held to his skin. “Just let me know if you’re uncomfortable.”

Mmmhmm…” Damian had closed his eyes and appeared to be fighting against the pale. Cain was cautious as he pulled up the t-shirt Damian was wearing, revealing the flesh of his abdomen, and he very gently placed his fingertips onto Damian’s stomach and began to rub a light circle. Cain could hear Damian letting out slow and controlled breaths through his mouth.

“Is that okay?” Cain questioned, anxious not to cause any more pain.

“Yeah…” Damian mumbled. “I’m sorry – I should have been more careful.”

“Don’t be silly Damian,” Cain replied. “You wouldn’t have knowingly done this to yourself!” Damian was rubbing his own chest again, Cain was concerned by how much discomfort Damian was in. “Are you still feeling like you need to burp?”

“Yeah…” Damian nodded, opening his eyes to look at Cain. “I feel like all the air’s trapped in here.” He pointed to his upper stomach and screwed his face up once more; under the palm of Cain’s hand he felt Damian’s muscles tense as a cramp wracked through him. “Mmmmmmnn…”

“Let me try help,” Cain said nervously, moving his hand further up Damian’s abdomen, and putting more pressure into his skin. “Is that pressure okay?”

Brrruurp!” A short belch burst past Damian’s lips, and his cheeks went a little pink as he mumbled: “Excuse me.”

“Did that help?” Cain withdrew his hand quickly, afraid that he’d hurt Damian; but Damian’s hand shot out and grabbed Cain’s wrist.

“Please keep doing that – it really helps,” he asked pleadingly.

With that permission, Cain put his hand back on to Damian’s abdomen and started to massage up and down its length. As Cain kneaded his fingers he could feel the bloat in Damian’s flesh, and as he pressed further he could almost feel the air moving about in his gut.

Brrrrrrrrrppp!” The deep belch forced out and Damian shifted around on the sofa. “Urgh, this really hurts.”

“Is it not getting any better?” Cain questioned as Damian let out another uncomfortable groan; Damian shook his head.

“I feel like – my stomach’s expanding…” He explained. “God I can’t believe I used to deal with this every day!”

“It’s just a slip up, once it’s out of your system you’ll be back to normal,” Cain told him reassuringly.

“I know, I just-” Damian doubled forward again. “I feel so bloated.” Damian looked thoroughly miserable. Cain frowned, trying to think of any other he could help – he had an idea, but wasn’t sure whether Damian would be happy to try. “I’d do anything to get rid of this – urghh…”

“Really?” Cain asked, looking at him intensely.

“Yeah!” He nodded instantly.

“Come here,” Cain began to manoeuvre Damian up from leaning on the back of the sofa. “I’ve got an idea that might help…”

“Okay,” Damian shuffled forward to the edge of the sofa.

“You’re gonna put your head on my shoulder,” Cain told him, feeling a little apprehensive about what he was going to do, “Like you’re giving me a hug.”

“Okay,” he moved so his chin was resting on Cain’s left shoulder and Cain wrapped his arms around his best friend – holding him steady with one arm and using the other to rub his hand up and down Damian’s back.

“I used to do this to Jethro and Zachariah when they were little and needed to burp,” Cain said nervously, giving gentle pats into the mid section of Damian’s back.

Baaauuuuurrrp!” Almost instantly Cain felt Damian’s back move slightly as a deep belch rolled out of him, coaxed by Cain’s ministrations. “Oh that felt good… Keep going, please…” Cain smiled slightly, feeling Damian relax into him more as he moved his hand all over Damian’s back. “Buuuhhhrrp!”

“That’s it,” he encouraged, running his hand up more firmly and feeling Damian’s spine. “Is this helping?”

“Yes,” Damian confirmed; Cain’s hands felt like they were magic, every time they ran up and down his back he felt like another pocket of air was dislodged and pushed up, like squeezing toothpaste out of a tube. “If I’d known you were so good I’d’ve come to you before I was diagnosed…”

“As long as it’s helping you now,” Cain said, glad that the laboured sounding breaths had died down and Damian no longer seemed to be experiencing such strong cramps.

Brrraaaaaap!” After this burp, Damian let out a little sound of pleasure and seemed to nestle his head further into Cain’s shoulder. 

“You tell me when you want to stop,” Cain muttered quietly, beginning the gentle patting motions again.

“Mmhmm… buuuup!” Damian said, “I will.”

Cain continued rubbing and patting Damian’s back, hearing occasional burps from him. After a while Cain wondered if Damian was beginning to fall asleep as his weight grew heavier, but, following Damian’s instructions, he kept going.

Buuuuuuuurrr –“ Damian’s shoulders jerked suddenly as an unexpectedly deep belch came from him, “huuuuuuurrrrrk!”

Damian’s entire body tensed instantly, but it took Cain an extra second to understand why. He became aware of a warm wet sensation down the left side of his back, he could hear a gentle dripping sound, and Damian seemed to be trembling suddenly.

“Damian…?” Cain started slowly.

“Mmmmmm…” Damian let out a small whimper.

“Did you just puke on me?” Damian drew back, away from Cain’s shoulder, his hands shot up to cover the bottom of his face. His eyes were wide with horror as he nodded slowly.

“I’m so sorry!” He whispered, sounding absolutely horrified with himself. “I didn’t – god – I’m so sorry!”

“Do you feel better now?” Cain asked, working very hard to keep his voice calm and measured, even though he could feel the dampness seeping through the back of his t-shirt. Damian nodded, not removing his hands from his face.

“God, I didn’t know that would happen!” Damian’s pale cheeks were rapidly turning scarlet. “I’m so sorry!”

“Damian,” Cain held his hand up to stop his gushing apologies, “I have four younger brothers – do you really think I’ve not been puked on before?”

“No, I – oh, I’m sorry!” Damian apologised once more, lowering his hands from his face; Cain reached out and fastened his grip on Damian’s upper arms.

“Do you feel better now that’s out?” Cain questioned directly.

“Yes,” Damian confirmed.

“Right, well stop apologising! I’m just glad you feel okay,” Cain told him.

“You sure?” Damian mumbled, staring into Cain’s face like he was looking for any indication that Cain was lying.

“Positive!” Cain assured, and Damian relaxed slightly. “And if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go change my shirt…”

Mischief Managed - Sirius Black x Reader (Request)

Request: “I would love a Sirius smut/fluff! Where my character and he meet in a detention because they’re both trouble makers…… :D Love your writing btw, Looking forward to following your blog!”

Warning: Mild Smut.

——————————————-

“Urgh.” Was the first thought you had upon waking up that Saturday morning. You couldn’t believe that you had detention until this afternoon just because you threw a book at the back of your friends head by accident. You look outside at the wind and rain thrashing your window and want nothing more than to curl up in your warm bed and sleep for a few more hours.

“I guess I better get up.” You groan to yourself as you lift yourself out of bed and get dressed.

Plodding over to detention you notice how quiet the castle is and feel a pang of jealousy knowing most people are spending their Saturday mornings in bed.

You knock hard on the big wooden door but there’s no reply.

“That’s odd.” You muse.

Just then the door swings open to reveal that there is nobody else in the room apart from a boy sat in the middle row, chair spun around to face the door, his legs on the desk in front of him.

“Ah!” he exclaims “finally, someone to keep me company.”

The boy was tall and quite muscular with striking grey eyes and shaggy black hair framing his face. You immediately recognise him as Sirius Black, one of the troublemakers of Gryffindor.

“Where’s McGonagall?” you ask.

“Don’t know,” he answered “she was here a bit ago but said she had to go and see Dumbledore.”

“And she just left you in here on your own?” you question.

“Well I’m not on my own now am I, Y/N?” he smirks “what are you here for anyway? Been a bad girl again?” you sense a flicker of a wink on his face and hope that he’s too far away to notice your cheeks flush a bright pink.

“No,” you say, regaining your composure “I threw a book and it was supposed to land on my friends desk but it hit her on the back of her head instead.”

“Crappy aim you’ve got there Y/N.” he laughs.

“What did you do to land yourself here then?” you enquire, walking towards him.

“Let’s just say my mischievous mind got me into a spot of bother.” He states, eyeing the sway of your hips as you saunter towards him.

“Go on..” You urge, shifting his legs and sitting on the desk in front of him, your arms crossed over your chest pushing your breasts together provocatively.

Sirius flicks his wand towards the door and with a slam it swings shut. You note a glimmer of a smirk on his face as he stands up and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Well, James and I were going for a stroll the other day when we came across a couple having rather a steamy session on a balcony below the staircase we were on,” he says, his eyes fixed on yours as his finger draws circles into your knee “so we thought it would be funny to pour ice cold water over them,” he continues, his hand now travelling up your thigh and under your skirt, stroking the fabric of your underwear “but unfortunately,” he whispers into your ear, “old McGonagall  caught us and now here I am in detention with you.” At these words Sirius removes his hand abruptly, his smile widening upon seeing your flustered reaction as his hand left your skirt.

“Sirius!” you clamour, reaching out for his hand only for him to snatch it away and sit back down in his chair sniggering.

You took this as a challenge, stood up and slowly walked behind him.

“Are you teasing me Sirius?” you whisper into his ear, your arms reaching over his shoulders to unbutton his shirt.

“Not at all Y/N.” he smirks.

You reach down into his shirt, running your nails across his broad chest and softly biting the skin of his neck. He rolls his head back into your shoulder to give you more access and you begin to suck harshly at his skin, deep purple bruises scattering across his neck as you go.

“How am I supposed to hide these?” he hisses in pleasure.

“I don’t know,” you answer “I’m sure your witty mind will think of something.” You whisper, pulling away from his body and moving to stand in front of him once again.

Sirius quickly spins you around and effortlessly pulls you onto his lap. Purposefully landing directly onto his crotch you turn your head to look into his face.

“Still reckon I have crappy aim, Sirius?” you smile innocently.

“I reckon it’s vastly improved Miss Y/L/N.” he smirks.

You feel his member stiffen underneath you as you grind slowly into him, listening to him groan in delight, his arms snaking around your body as his hands find your breasts.

Sirius kisses you deeply, his tongue expertly exploring your mouth as you moan softly into his.

Just then the door swings open and you shoot up, stumbling as you do so and look up to find Professor McGonagall walking in, her eyes fixed upon a piece of parchment.

‘Thank GOD she didn’t see that!’ you think to yourself as you feel your face turn scarlet.

“Oh, Miss Y/L/N, sorry I’m late. I had a meeting with Professor Dumbledore that could not be postponed.” She states “Please take a seat. I’m sure you have work to be getting on with?”

“Err, yes Professor.” You stutter, still flustered.

Taking your seat you look over at Sirius who is calmly writing on a piece of parchment.

‘How can he be so calm!?’ you ask yourself, taking some books out of your bag and placing them on your desk.

A few seconds pass by and you feel something bounce off your hair and land on the desk. It was a crumpled up piece of parchment. Looking over at Sirius you find him staring directly at you, a cheeky grin plastered across his face. Opening the piece of parchment you read simply: ‘Meet me outside the Great Hall after dinner’

With butterflies in your stomach you look back down at your books and try your very best to concentrate on your unfinished essay, finding however, that your mind and your eyes can do nothing but wander to Sirius Black.

——————————— 

Hope you like it! x

where am i? closed rp

“Urgh.. where am i?” Ruka asked herself. Her head was bounding and the world was still spinning around her. She tried recollecting what had happened before she blacked out. All she remembered was that she had been with madhouse and that she wanted to try something with the poor vampire. It was probably madhouses fault then. The world seemed grim and lifeless, it was world she had never seen or been in before.

Ruka let out a deep sigh as she got up. “Just my luck. Well can’t stay down. Better try looking for a way back or …” she quickly unsheeted her blade and turned back, facing the rocks and the person who was behind them. “I know you’re there! I can hear your heart beating!”

@blue-fire-eyes

PLEASE TELL ME - [ Jeon JUNGKOOK x READER ] (ft. JHOPE) Pt. 9

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Genre: angst/fluff/school au

Length: :o

Summary: “Be a brave little lamb, even a Lion will get scared.” your grandmother’s words became your light to face life. You are always viewing the world with a positive mind. Even with the bad things that were happening around you, you are strong. Love is something you never get often and when Love finally appears, it is hard to catch. Isn’t it tiring to always be strong when your whole world is just crashing and burning down in front of you?

Warning: Swearing

part 9/?

Gif Credits

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blake-wyatt  asked:

I literally want you to write a whole series where you do EVERY SINGLE 'THINGS YOU SAID' prompt on that list, not kidding, but for now: fitzsimmons + things you said on the phone at 4 am :) [and if someone has already sent you this one then: things you said that I wasn't meant to hear]

i decided to use both, just because they fit together so nicely!

The cry comes at just after three and Jemma moans into the mattress, where she had fallen face down and stayed after she’d shuffled back to bed after the last cry at two am.

As much as she adores her newborn baby son, the constant disruptions during the night are slowly starting to drain her will to live.

Next to her, Fitz sighs and starts to roll over.

‘My turn, I think.’

She pats him clumsily on the back in gratitude as he slides off the bed. ‘If he’s hungry again, just come and wake me.’

Fitz kisses her on the back of her head, the only part he can reach for all the blankets cocooned around her. ‘Will do.’

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oishichan  asked:

Sherlolly prompt: Sherlock does something nice and Molly just kind of kisses him, overwhelmed. Sherlock is like,"What was that for?" and is really embarrassed and pleased.

I’m so sorry this has taken so long to fill!

Ficlet Friday: You’re Welcome

Years ago, Molly used to fantasise about having Sherlock Holmes arrive at her door at midnight.

Sometimes she’d dream he’d drag her out - still in her pyjamas - and take her God knows where. Like Amy Pond and the Doctor - but with more corpses, less humour and no TARDIS.

Sometimes she’d wonder if he’d ever need her to treat him - some kind of minor injury but one he’d want to hide from John. A few stitches perhaps. Nothing too dire, but enough to show he trusted her with the living as much as he respected her work with the dead.

Sometimes she’d wonder if he’d ever simply need her. Those where the dreams she kept returning to. Over and over. Imagining him desperate for her and she responding in kind.

But those were just dreams. Years later, she discovered the reality of having Sherlock Holmes arrive at her door at midnight was much less exciting, dangerous or sexy.

In fact, having Sherlock use her flat as a bolt hole was downright annoying.

The first time it happened, she didn’t even realise he was there until she went to sit on the couch the next morning to drink her coffee before here 5am shift at Bart’s.

As she sat, she felt a large lump beneath the throw blankets, which promptly started moving. Eyes unaccustomed to the pre-dawn gloom, Molly jumped up, dropped her coffee to the ground and grabbed the closest weapon she could find - the 800 page romance novel she had been reading - and threw it at the lump. The lump responded with a distinctly human ‘urgh’, causing Molly to scream and run to the kitchen in search of better weaponry.

A familiar baritone stopped her in her tracks.

“Molly.”

She turned to see the surprising sight of Sherlock on her lounge, shirtless, using one hand to rub his head where the book must have landed and clutching said book in the other.

He looked at the cover.

“A Dragonfly in Amber.” He said, reading the title, “Not in the mood to read about paleo-insectology, thanks. Just need sleep.”

“But why are you doing it in my flat?”

“Closer,” was his only explanation before lying back down and immediately falling back to sleep.

Molly left for work, and all morning found herself oscillating between excitement and confusion as to why Sherlock was in her flat.

All those emotions were replaced by anger and annoyance once she returned home to find the flat empty of consulting detectives but brimming with signs of his destructive occupation.



Molly let him know of her displeasure the next time he came into Bart’s.

“Why the hell did you leave dishes in the bath?” She demanded.

He looked at her as if her question made no sense. “Because there was garbage in the sink,” he said, as if it were a perfectly fine explanation.

Of course, it wasn’t. “And why did you put garbage in the sink?” She continued.

Sherlock frowned, “Because the bin was full.”

“And why didn’t you take the bin out?”

She could tell that one had him stumped. He paused for a moment. “I don’t know. Doesn’t it usually take care of itself?”

“No Sherlock. Not everyone has a housekeeper”

“Landlady,” he corrected.

“Landlady who for some unknown reason enjoys mothering you to the point that you’ve turned into an oversized adolescent.”

She could tell he wasn’t happy with her description of him. “Adolescent?“ He repeated, angrily.

Molly wasn’t about to back down, “Man-child,” she added.

Instead of meeting her in her anger, Sherlock retreated, his face softening, his voice quiet. “Really?” he asked, “That’s what you’re think of me?”

“Well, a brilliant adolescent man-child,” she said in an attempt at a joke.

“Oh” He said, in an almost adolescent huff. Molly smirked at how apt the title really was for him.

She could see him his eyes that she had hurt his feelings, so she let go of her anger. “Next time, just keep the rubbish and the washing up where they belong.”

He arched an eyebrow at her, “Next time?”

She hated his ability to fluster her. “I mean - if you need - if you’re - oh never mind!” She stumbled, before walking off.



Sherlock did learn his lesson about the washing up and the rubbish - although only to the point that he’d leave a pile of dishes in her sink and multiple bags of garbage next to her door.

But despite that one victory, there would always be some telltale sign of destruction left in his wake whenever he stayed at her flat.

One day she came home to scorch marks on the carpet and two cushions missing from the base of her lounge.

One morning, she woke up to piles of newspapers in her living room - some dating back to the mid 1970s.

One afternoon, she returned from a shift at Bart’s to find her kitchen completely empty – no food, no plates, no cutlery, nothing.

She was at her wit’s end with him when one morning he came into Bart’s and did something she didn’t expect: he actually asked her permission to use her flat that evening.

Of course, she was suspicious.

“Is it for a case?”

“No.”

“Is it to hide evidence?”

“No.”

“Is it to perform some ungodly experiment in my shower?”

“No, I promised I wouldn’t do that again.”

“Good,” she smiled.

“Then I can use it?” He asked, and if she didn’t know better, she swore he looked nervous.

“Sure.”

Her day at Bart’s was so busy Molly almost completely forgot that Sherlock would be there when she got home. She paused before opening the front door, preparing herself for whatever carnage awaited her.

The front door swung open. Molly almost couldn’t believe her eyes.

The flat was tidy.

More than that, there were candles lighting her way to the lounge room.

And in the lounge room, brand new carpet to replace the one inexplicably scorched by Sherlock. And a new lounge as well.

On the table in the dining room, brand new plates and cutlery and on them, her favourite meal from Angelo’s – Shrimp Scampi with Linguine. And white wine. Two plates, two glasses, she noted.

She was so taken by the sight that she didn’t even notice Sherlock standing in the corner of the lounge room, watching her intently.

Molly couldn’t help herself. So overwhelmed with his gesture, she found herself walking over to him. She had meant only to give him a quick hug, but somehow instead found herself placing a small gentle kiss on his lips.

She pulled away, embarrassed.

She tried to read him, tried to see if there was any reaction to her kiss. His face was blank, almost as if he was still there in body but his mind was elsewhere.

“What,” he started, then stopped. A few moments passed before he spoke again. “What was that for?”

“Uh – um – thank you?” She offered by way of explanation.

She turned to walk over to the dining table, but he caught her by the wrist and turned her back to him. Before she knew it, he was kissing her. Not gently as she had kissed him, but with desperation like he was a man lost in the desert and she was life-giving water.

 She broke the kiss and stared at him, breathless.

 “You’re welcome,” he said.        

Meet My Girlfriend! -Joe Sugg imagine

Request: yes
Plot: Joe and Y/n film a video and it’s cute and fluffy.
-
“Hey guys!” Joe said,looking into the camera in his bedroom. “So by the title of this video, you probably noticed that this video is a little different to my normal ones. Yes, I have a girlfriend!”
I sighed nervously, smoothing out my stripy top.
“Meet Y/n! My girlfriend.” He said.
I walked over and sat next to him. I waved shyly at the camera.
“Hi..” I half smiled. “I’m Y/n.”
Joe wrapped his arms around my waist, making me feel more comfortable.
“Relax.” He whispered. “So, we’ve been dating for 6 weeks now. I know it seems like we kept this a seceret from you guys, but honestly we didn’t know when you tell you.” Joe kissed my cheek lightly.
“Mhm.” I nodded.
“I hope you’ll love her as much as I do. I honestly love her so much and I hope you guys see that. Please accept our relationship.” He carried on.
“I love you, you idiot.” I smiled looking into his eyes.
“I love you too.” He whispered, kissing my forhead.
“So, there is something else to this video..” Joe smirked. “I am going to ask Y/n questions about me. If she gets them wrong, she has a type of food dumped on her head. If she gets it right, she gets a kiss.” He laughed.
“Well, I better get them right then.” I answered jokingly.
“Let’s get started!” He yelled.
“So, Y/n. When’s my birthday?” He asked, preparing an egg above my head.
“Urgh, you’ve said September! But that’s all… You never said what day! Uhh… The 9th?!” I stuttered.

“Nope… THE 8TH!” He yelled, cracking an egg on my hair.. “Eww! JOE WHY?!” I yelled back. “I love you too, babe.” He rolled his eyes. I wiped it off of my head and forhead. “What did I have for dinner last night?” He laughed cheekily. “Pasta!! I made you it, dumbo!” “Correct!” He said in a voice over impression, then kissing my lips softly. We did a few more questions (some kisses were earned and some more food was thrown on me.) and ended the video. “They’ll love you baby. I know they will.” He whispered, kissing me.

Don’t know when we started losing touch - Chapter 8


Hello everybody,

I am sorry that I am late on this update but life got into the way (or however you say it in English) xD I have/had a brain concussion the last two weeks and wasn’t able to write or do anything except lying in bed and do nothing. And I mean – NOTHING! At least the first 1,5 weeks. Urgh … but now I am doing better and here is the new chapter. I hope you like it. Tell me what you think. Love you all. Thanks to my beta.

Thank you for your likes and reblogs. They are meaning the world to me and keep me writing this :-)


Chapter Seven

Chapter Nine

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