there are a lot of new people around here, so i figured i'd make a little introduction post.
my name's marina, i'm 31, and i'm from brazil. i mostly post about joe, his characters, and a little bit of stranger things.
i'm a teacher and i'm currently finishing my master's degree. i write fanfiction as a way to get my creativity flowing again :)
feel free to send me requests, whether they're about my fics or just any story you'd like to read. my masterlist is down below if you want to check out my stories:
HII I wanted to requested joe and influencer reader where she does trends and pranks on hime xs he's chronically offline trends life wiping his kiss and asking for a hug and randomly cuddling with him while hes working or not saying I love u back ,stuff like that pls
Little trends
pairing: joe keery x fem!reader
warnings: literally just fluff and VERY SOFT!JOE
word count: 2.11k
a/n: dude, if im being honest with you guys... this ask has been in my inbox since april. IM SO SORRY TO WHOEVER SENT THIS- but i hope you guys like it!! i've been meaning to write this for the longest timee. enjoy xoxo
Your phone was perched against the seal of your apartment window, recording. The amount of times you've pranked Joe with these silly, annoying trends was uncanny. Joe wasn't a guy to be on his phone much, nor be on social media. It was to the point where he had his team run his Instagram.
You on the other hand-- You had an addiction. Well, okay. Not a 'i can't stop scrolling, my eyes hurt' addiction, more of a 'i can't stop recording me pranking my boyfriend.' type of addiction.
Joe however seemed to enjoy the little shenanigans you'd throw at him. He'd always get a laugh out of it, plus he'd always get his revenge by taking your phone and cuddling you to death for the rest of the night.
In the background, the sink was running, and the hum of some indie tune Joe had recently been attached too drifted around the house.
"Okay guys- So, Joe is in the bathroom getting ready for an interview.. And- I know how much you guys enjoyed that prank video I did, so here's another! If I'm being honest, I'm kinda nervous with this one-" Your voice was soft, almost a whisper.
You knew he wouldn't have been able to hear you even if you were talking normally, but hey- A little dramatic effect here and there never hurt anyone.
Just as you parted your lips to speak, the sink shut off and the bathroom door swung open. Joe walked out in a plain black T, with those black Hollister jeans to match. What made him even cuter- was the fact he had on your jacket. Adorable.
"Hi joey." You turned away from the camera, playing your nervousness off with a pretty smile.
"Hey honey." He gave a soft smile in return, padding over to you completely missing the phone pointed directly at him.
His hands settled on your hips, warm and secure, while his lips pressed a kiss to your cheek, then on your lips. You were tempted to keep him home if he kept kissing you like that.
"Got a few interviews today, you gonna be alright?" He hummed, his arms finally circling your waist to hold you from behind.
"I'll be okay." You spoke to him quietly in response.
He gave a little grunt of approval, before unwraveling his arms from your waist, and giving your face one more soft peck.
"Alright then. Don't wanna be late, so i'm gonna get going." He huffed, givving your back a solid pat.
"I love you babe" He called out, as he began retreating for the front door.
"Bye!" You winced, turning back to the camera to hold your laugh in.
He almost didn't catch it. But he was grateful he did. His head raised from his keys, furrowing his brows, then trying again.
"Babe, I love you." He spoke again, a tad bit of confusion laced into his tone.
"Okay, cya!" You quipped, covering your mouth with your palm.
He frowned, his heart dropping. Why weren't you saying it back? Did he do something?
"Baby.." He sighed, and your heart broke. He sounded absolutely defeated.
"Yes?"
"..Why aren't you saying it back?" He padded back over to you.
You couldn't hold it together. God he broke your heart with those pathetic puppy dog eyes, and his bottom lip slightly jutted out.
"I cant- i'm so sorry baby." You giggled, turning fully towards him and pulling him into the biggest, most apologetic hug ever.
"It was for a video." You added, still giggling.
He glanced over at your phone, and his concerned expression fell. Damnit you.
"Babe, you had me so scared- Never again!" He nudged your side.
"Im sorry." Your laugh died off as you hugged him. How could one man be so warm to the point where it was making you sleepy.
"Mhm. Well I do really have to go. I LOVE you." He gave you a look.
"i love you too Joey." You smiled, leaning up to peck his lips.
During this interaction, you had completely forgotten about the camera. Its like it didn't exist. Just you and him, and your love for eachother.
You slowly pulled away from him, and he glanced down at you.
"I'll see you soon." He murmured, brushing your shoulder with his fingers, before turning towards the front door again, and leaving. Joe went to his interviews happy like a boy with a crush. What a dork.
see comments..
➥ user1 ohmygoshh joe is so sweet i cant
➥ user2 that should be mee holding your handdd
➥ user3 the way his heart broke- girl ur evil.. this was very cute though!!
➥ user4 eyes that yearn
➥ user5 this was so cute thanks for feeding us mommy
It was around 5:30 in the afternoon, rain was pouring outside, your cats were asleep in your lap. Very lazy type of day.
Joe had actually decided to stay home and work, instead of driving out to his studio. He rarely stayed home for his music career, but you were lucky enough to see him do it today.
Joe was on the opposite end of the couch; cozied up in one of his favorite hoodies, paired with some sweats and your blanket you'd knitted a few months prior. He'd been arguing with one of your cats, "Ezme" for laying down on his laptop.
His fingers worked slowly against the keys. The massive urge you had to just shut that laptop, and climb into his lap was excessive.
Ezme let out a meow of frustration, before pattering over to you. Ezme never learnt her lesson when told to stop, mainly because Joe didn't have a mean bone in his body.
"hi lovey." You took her into your lap, where she joined your other cat "Cody", who was curled up against you.
"We need a dog baby. All this cat hair is messing with my- .. my synesis. Jesus Christ." He sneezed into his arm.
You let out a subtle hum in response, trying to busy yourself on your phone.
Surprisingly, you managed to spend at least half an hour on your phone. Which was unusual for you, especially since all you did was scroll through reels, and Facebook posts.
An idea sparked in your head, light a lightbulb clicking on. What if you filmed an innocent little video? Surely he wouldn't mind.
Quietly, you moved your phone to the small table beside the edge of the couch, propping it up against the lamp. You faced it towards where you and Joe were both sitting, and clicked record.
You side eyed the camera, the urge was very tempting. Would be get mad? Would he enjoy your company? Only one way to find out!
With a subtle scoot, your cats jumped off your lat. You'd expected him to turn his head or glance, but he stayed still. With a soft exhale, you lowered your head onto his lap, until your cheek was pressed against his thigh.
He paused, looking down at you with fond eyes even the camera could pick up. He reached for the top of his laptop to shut it, tossing it off to the side.
His hands were warm when they found your body. One hand slid into your hair, the other resting on your back. He was slightly confused, mainly because you never randomly come up and cuddle him, or lay on him.
"What's wrong, baby." He spoke softly, his voice sending sparks through your chest.
"Nothing. I just love you." You shrugged, shutting your eyes.
He slid his glasses onto his nose, before tugging you up to rest your head against his chest. The closer you got, the more you wanted to physical attack him with your love.
He glanced over at your phone, and sighed. He did feel a tad guilty, since it seem you had to "prank" him to get his attention.
"Were you prankin' me?" He smirked, looking down at you.
"I was supposed to but.. Your too warm, I might fall asleep- No more pranks here." You yawned against his thigh as evidence.
His smirk softened into something genuine. He reached for the phone, turning off the recording, and just holding you.
"You could've asked to be cuddled sweetheart, im not that busy." He murmured.
"Yeah yeah.." Your voice faltered as you finally drifted off.
see comments..
➥ user6 bro i might shed some tears this was adorable stop
➥ user7 can you tell your boyfriend to stop being so damn cute. #single
➥ user8 AWWW SHE FELL ASLEEP I CANNOTT
➥ user9 the fact she fell asleep with 5 seconds of contact, makes me wonder how warm Joe actually is.
Dinner was on the stove, the house was bathing in that golden glow from the sun, and Joe was looking absolutely adorable. He always cooked for you, ever since you got together. If anything, he was your personal maid. You had offered to cook tonight since he'd been doing so for the past few weeks, but he refused. You were starting to think that Joe believed women shouldn't have to care for their men every second of the day. How sweet.
He was in those sweats he seemed to never stay out of, and one of those worn shirts he's had for what felt like 10 years. His hair was all messy, and poking out in every direction- His adorable appearance made you drool. God how could a 34 year old man look so princessy?
While he was busy at the stove, you propped your phone up against the vase of flowers sitting on your dining table, attempting to cover it with the fake leaves.
With a mischevious grin, you pressed record, and backed up just a smudge to get your face in frame. Joe had some old 80's song playing on the radio, and he resembled an 80 year old when it came to hearing someone over music.
"Okay- Joe is literally, right behind me but I wanted to prank him because.. I mean he looks adorable, cmon." You gave the lense a view of your stunning little princess.
"You guys really enjoy this type of stuff- so i hope you like this one too!" You smile, glancing back at him.
With a soft giggle, you trot up to him, resting your chin on his shoulder, and wrapping your arms around his waist. That was usually something he'd do, but the tables have been turned.
"Hey babe." He murmured, pushing around vegetables in the pan.
"I know.. You said chicken was fine- But I wanted to make you your favorite, don't be mad at me." He murmured.
You scoffed. The fact he thought you'd be mad?
"Excuse you sir! I would never be mad at that, I will always prefer my favorite food over chicken love." You press a kiss to his cheek and he smirks.
"Sorry sorry." He chuckled, turning his head to return the smooch.
Quickly, you wiped the wetness off of your cheek. You had expected him not to notice, due to the angle, and how quickly you'd wiped it off- But no.
"Babe?" He furrowed his brows, reaching a hand down to cut the stove off.
"Hm?"
He tried one more time, pressing a kiss to your cheek, watching you. You glanced away to hold back a giggle, before your sleeve came up and wiped off the kiss.
Joe furrowed his brows, and he huffed.
"No ma'am. Don't wipe my affection off-" He murmured, grabbing your face and kissing you square on the lips.
You giggled into the kiss, kissing him back for a second.
"Why're you laughing? You just wiped my kiss off!" He tried to be serious and upset, but he couldn't help that smile that found his lips.
"Its a prank baby!" You laughed, tossing your head back.
He groaned rubbing both hands down his face, before the snuck up behind you and pulled you flush against him.
His mouth quickly went to work, lips peppering kisses everywhere he could reach. The quick movements were ticklish, making you arch and squirm with those infectious giggles.
"Try wiping that off." He tilted his head at you.
"I- Okay! Okay im sorry." You snorted.
"Always pranking me. Your ridiculous." He shook his head, giving your lips one last kiss, then turning back to the stove to finish dinner.
see comments..
➥ user10 oh my gosh that waist grab *cries*
➥ user11 goodluck girl u aint getting out of this one
➥ user12 this was so cute omgomg
➥ user13 you need to say sorry to him and cuddle him allll night, but these are hilariousss
pairing: walter 'keys' mckey x female!co-worker!roommate!reader
summary: All great roommates have rules. You and Keys just have one. You can’t touch each other. But when your favorite fantasy show turns spicy, the couch suddenly feels too small, and some rules are meant to be broken...
tags: MDNI [smut] [roommates to lovers] [movie night] [accidentally watching a sex scene together] [no touching rule] [tension] [mutual masturbation] [panty licking] [spit play] [dirty talk] [flustered] [mutual pining] [literal idiots in love] [filthy fucking keys smut as promised] [cumshot on tits] 6k words
note from gray: This dialogue prompt was requested for my 3k follower special event multiple times, with you asking for both smutty and fluffy versions. Your wish is my command. Read the fluffy sister fic here! This goes out to my literal muse, @tellcherhesgone.
“You’re doing the thing again,” you say flatly from the couch, eyes still glued to the TV.
Your roommate, Keys, clears his throat behind you. “What thing?”
“The thing where you pretend you aren’t watching my show, but you totally are.”
“What?” he scoffs. “No, I’m…I’m just on my way to the kitchen…”
Ten seconds go by. When you don’t hear him move, you glance over your shoulder to see him still leaning on the doorframe, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his white T-shirt rumpled under his crossed arms.
This is not the first time you’ve caught him pausing in the hallway, pretending not to be enamored by your favorite fantasy show, High Table.
You try not to notice how soft his mussed brown hair looks the dim light of the living room, or the way his nerdy glasses reflect the castle on the screen.
You fail.
He’s chosen a great episode to watch tonight, though, because Princess Alice is about to have to choose between Prince Lincoln —who she’s supposed to marry for the sake of the kingdom— and the court Jester, Quinn, who has secretly stolen her heart.
But right now, you’re missing important dialogue because as you watch Keys’ lips part in shock at something happening on the screen, a warm feeling settles in your chest.
“Keys.” You pat the couch cushion next to you. “Sit down.”
He doesn’t even look at you.
“No, that’s okay,” he murmurs, distracted. “I’ll just…I’ll just head to my room. Got work to do. So....”
Music swells through your dark apartment, and you turn back to the show, afraid you’ll miss something.
Ten more seconds later, Keys is reaching a greedy hand into your popcorn bowl and kicking his socked feet up on the coffee table.
You smirk into your soda. The carbonation fizzes against your lips, and you will yourself not to get distracted by the way the couch dips as he sits next to you.
Seriously, your ab routine at the gym might need some work, because keeping yourself from falling into his side like he’s the new center of gravity feels a lot harder than it should…
“I’ve heard about this show,” Keys says.
You bend over to set your drink down. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, it’s up for some awards because of the fight scene choreography. And the historical features are supposedly really accurate, because they did the filming at—” He cuts himself off, glancing over at you sheepishly, but you just shoot him a knowing look.
His cheeks flush but he smiles, dragging the popcorn bowl into his lap
“…I’m just saying I’ve heard about it, okay?”
You settle back into the couch with a smirk. “Nerd.”
On the screen, Alice races down a castle corridor, her voluptuous dress bunched in her hands, red hair streaming behind her as she checks over her shoulder. Then, you and Keys gasp in unison as she yanks a sword from the wall with a metal clang and brandishes it against her own guards.
An intense action scene ensues, and you’re both so engrossed in the suspense that neither of you notice how close you’ve shifted towards the other. And when you reach for another handful of popcorn, Keys follows suit without thinking.
The soft brush of his hand against yours sends heat streaking through your skin. A gasp catches in your throat and you spring back from him in surprise, while he almost loses the entire bowl of popcorn in his haste to get away.
“Shit—sorry, sorry!” Keys apologizes instantly. “That one was my bad. Sushi?”
You think for a second. “Yeah, sounds good.”
The two of you turn back to the show in unison, ignoring the quickening of your heartbeats, and the fresh awareness of exactly where the other person’s limbs are in proximity to your own.
Listen, every good roommate arrangement has rules.
Like, for example; whoever dirties a dish has to clean it. That’s a good rule. Or, having a schedule for taking out the trash, labels on fridge items, and sending a courtesy text when you have someone over.
But you and Keys only have one.
You can’t touch each other.
If you do—even accidentally—you have to pay for takeout the next day.
Simple. Easy. And very, very necessary.
It’s not so much the money that keeps the rule intact, but rather the reminder of why it’s there in the first place.
Because Keys isn’t just your roommate. He’s also your co-worker.
The two of you work from home for Soonami Studios, thanks to their not-so-recent office resizing. You were promised this would be a temporary thing, but Antwon—your egotistical, asshole of a boss—has never been one to stick to his promises.
Little does he know, it really is temporarily, because you and Keys have already started job hunting.
Oh—and the cherry on the fucking cake? There is a zero tolerance company policy at Soonami studios, outlawing romantic employee relationships. It’s an ancient rule, but Antwon certainly doesn’t care to revise it. He’s happy as a clam to sit in his throne room, filing his nails and making crude jokes about the secretary, or—whatever it is he does up there.
Which means that sharing an apartment and an office 24/7 with your absurdly cute co-worker makes upholding this policy…difficult, to say the least.
Especially after what happened last March—
“Look at me, Your Highness.” The Jester rasps, drawing your attention back to the show. His dark curls spill down around his shoulders as he gently takes the Princess’ face in his hands. You and Keys both hold your breath, watching as the camera pans to show the castle guards scattered across the candlelit castle floor, their bodies bloody and still.
Slowly, as Alice lifts her eyes to her forbidden lover’s, yours turn to Keys.
He sits forward on the couch, hair falling over his glasses as his fingers steeple under his chin. Watching the scene with a rapt attention you can’t help but find extremely endearing.
“You’ve never looked at me like one,” the Jester rasps, his lips inches from hers. “But I’d gladly be your fool. Forever. Just tell me what to do.”
“I don’t know what to do, Quinn,” Alice says, breathless. “All I know is that I’d tear this castle apart again and again to be yours. If you’ll have me.”
The orchestra track crescendoes as he dips his head at the same time she rises to meet him, and the sound of kissing fills the room.
Keys clears his throat. “Wow. That was—”
Then the music shifts. It turns into something deep and thready, spinning a tendril of heat up your spine.
You feel your eyes go wide as her back hits the wall on beat as the kiss deepens.
Tongue and teeth flash in the candlelight as Quinn captures Alice’s wrists in one hand and pins them to the stone above her head.
Keys shifts on the couch, causing the cushions to dip again and nearly dragging you into his orbit. Your abs flex with the effort to stay upright.
The camera pans down….down to his hands climbing up her gown, long fingers slipping up past the fabric and wrenching a desperate gasp from her.
“They’re gonna cut away,” you say, voice wavering with false confidence. “They always—”
The sound of ripping fabric covers your words, and your jaw drops as the Jester tears open the Princess’s bodice, spilling her tits onto the screen.
“…It’s not cutting away,” Keys mumbles.
“No, they will!” You clear your throat. “Just watch.”
The camera moves again, this time pulling back for a wide angle. It catches the way Quinn’s muscled forearm flexes as he makes a rhythmic motion beneath her skirt, causing her mouth to drop open on a silent scream.
You drop your eyes to your lap, barely resisting the urge to palm your flaming face. But in your new field of view, you see Keys’ big hand twitch against his crotch.
Surely, this isn’t getting to him. Maybe it’s just that…universal groin discomfort men seem to always experience at inconvenient times. Because, you know, balls and all that.
But then it happens again.
You hold perfectly still, watching from the corner of your eye as his fingers spread over his thigh and his palm dimples his grey sweatpants ever so slightly.
Suddenly, his gaze flicks over to you.
Your stomach flips and you avert your gaze, pretending to be very invested in what’s happening on the screen.
“Not here,” Alice moans, arching against Quinn.
His lips leave hers reluctantly, and her wrists slip from his grasp. With one cautious, desperate look around, she clutches her dress over her exposed breasts and catches his sleeve, pulling him toward her bedroom.
The two of you sit silently, chests barely moving with each breath as the lovers stumble through the castle walls. They barely make it through her chamber door before they’re making out again.
And as you watch them fall into each other’s arms with abandon, your thoughts can’t help but return to that fateful night in March.
You and Keys had found yourselves in the kitchen at the same time a little past midnight. He was standing in the light of the refrigerator when you rounded the corner, muttering something about not being able to sleep, and you came to a shocking halt as Keys pulled out his sacred pint of Häagen-Dazs from the freezer.
Now, you knew him by this point, so you understood what a monumental, once-in-a-lifetime offer this was. Keys sharing his ice cream? Unheard of.
Besides, who are you kidding, under no circumstances would you ever turn down some chocolate chocolate chip.
You perched yourself on the island as he grabbed two spoons before joining you, and the second the chilled sugar hit your tongue, a soft moan escaped you. He blinked over at you, and then his eyes dropped to your mouth where a drop of ice cream had rolled down the spoon and onto your chin.
You were utterly mortified but Keys just smiled and leaned in to wipe it away with his thumb. Which lead to you leaning in, too, and before you knew it, you were making out against the cold marble countertop at one a.m.
You both broke off abruptly, chests heaving, swearing you didn’t mean it. That you were both just…not thinking.
But then it happened again. In April.
You were coming home from a boring date, smelling like your perfume and wearing that shade of lipstick that Keys could never quite get out of his head. All it took was one accidental brush of his shoulder against yours in the dark hallway before his glasses were fogging up as your tongues tangled together, his back hitting the wall with a thunk.
It wasn’t long before you were groaning into each other’s mouths in frustration, hands fisted each other’s clothes as you realized you had to stop.
That night, the rule was born.
And, the rule is good. It keeps things orderly, somewhat manageable, and above all—strictly professional.
Even if it makes you want to claw your eyes out every time you see your roommate because he’s too fucking perfect and you can’t have him and—
“Is this turning you on?”
Keys’ voice jolts you out of your thoughts, and you whirl back into the room, suddenly very aware of how damp your panties are just from the memory of his mouth on yours.
You blink quickly, first at the screen, where Alice and Quinn have finally made it to her bed, then over at him before you realize he asked you a question.
“What? N-no?” you stammer.
“Oh. It’s just your breathing got all—It’s fine, if you are, I mean. You know, I just—” He rakes a hand through his hair and his eyes widen before he looks away. “Sorry.”
You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again.
“Why?” you ask. “Is this…doing something for you?”
“What? No.” He shakes his head. Then, shakes it again harder. “No, why would you think that?”
“Well, you’re the one who fuckin’ said it, Keys!”
“I was just checking on you, okay?” he defends. “C’mon, it’s not like—” He gestures towards the TV at the same time Quinn crawls down Alice’s body, dropping kisses down her creamy thighs before disappearing under her dress. “Jesus.”
Alice’s tits are back on display again, the dips and valleys of her breasts painted in the light from the fireplace as she arches off the bed, moaning at the feel of Quinn’s mouth between her legs.
Keys’ pupils grow wider under his glasses, and his Adam’s apple bobs on a swallow.
You gasp. “Keys, you’re really into it!”
He gestures wildly towards the TV, rolling his eyes. “Oh. Okay. What am I supposed to do? Not look at the screen?”
Truth is, the need for him to look at you like that is burying itself deep between your hips, sharp and hot, making it hard to breathe. But you can’t say that, so you just…keep watching.
The two of them have moved further up the bed. Quinn’s spread out across the pillows while Alice brackets his waist with her knees. It cuts to a close-up shot of her locket dangling against her bare chest as she lowers her hips down. Though the camera doesn’t pan any lower, it’s pretty obvious she’s riding his dick from the way her head rolls back in pleasure, sending her red hair cascading down her back.
This new position reduces them to nothing but a gasping, growling, pawing mess of hungry mouths and limbs, and suddenly, your soft T-shirt and sleep shorts feel swelteringly tight.
The candle on the window sill felt like a cozy, atmospheric choice an hour ago, but now it feels downright sensual as the flame dances in the dark window overlooking the city far below.
Looking at it now, you can’t help but remember the first time you saw that candle.
When your previous roommate spontaneously married her boyfriend and moved out days before you were about to renew your lease, you had to find a new place to live and fast. You were talking to your friend Ria about it at work when suddenly, Walter McKeys interrupted with an offer.
You hardly knew the guy, but apparently, his best friend, “Mouser”, had just moved out thanks to a job change, and Keys needed a roommate to split the rent.
Now, you’re ashamed of the initial judgements you made on the bachelor pad. Days old takeout containers, a suspiciously stained couch, beds without headboards. The usual.
But, when you entered the spotless high-rise apartment for the first time, and found Keys in the kitchen, lighting a candle with the words teakwood and amber on the side, you realized you had severely misjudged your new roomy.
He was trying to make a good impression, that much was obvious. And you could tell he was nervous.
Because when you stepped into the kitchen with your bags, smiling at him softly, he gestured toward the candle and launched into an unprompted dissertation on why soy wax was the best, and that you should definitely buy candles with wood wicks, because they made a crackling sound akin to a real fireplace.
Now, that stuttering crackle is the only thing you can hear besides your own heartbeat whooshing in your ears, and the sounds of sex happening from the TV.
Suddenly, it all begins to feel like a bit too much.
Your shirt is tight against your hard nipples, and Keys has a pillow over his lap to hide the erection you’re pretending not to notice, and their moans are so fucking loud—
“God, how long is this scene?” Keys murmurs breathlessly.
Something about that desperation in his voice has you launching out of your seat to grab the remote off the coffee table. Embarrassment sends a flush up your neck, and your fingers tremble as you fumble for the skip button.
“Yeah, no, I can—” you chuckle breathlessly. “Let’s just...”
The TV screen goes black.
Oh. Shit. You didn’t mean to press the power button! You were just tying to fast forward! Should you turn it back on? No. God, no! The silence threatens to suffocate you. Except for the crackling wood wick.
Damn, that candle is loud.
Keys swallows hard beside you. “Well…goodnight.”
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Night.”
Neither of you move.
Keys’ knees widen ever so slightly as he goes to take the pillow off his lap, but seems to think better of it at the last second. You itch to tease him for it, but you can’t, because your panties are sticking to your wet cunt, your clit throbbing with a heavy ache you haven’t felt since April.
And it’s not from the fucking sex scene.
“Keys—” His name leaves your lips before you can stop it.
In the dim candlelight, his chest rises and falls under his T-shirt, and a stray lock of hair falls into his eyes as he glances over at you.
“Yeah?”
He’s looking at you so earnestly from behind his glasses. Like he’d do literally anything you asked him to right now, but more than anything, he just wants to listen.
“What if…?” Your eyes drop to your lap. “N-never mind.”
“No, what were you going to say?” he urges, and his voice has this eager, desperate edge to it that you absolutely cannot think about right now.
You shake your head. “It’s nothing. Seriously, just forget I said anything—”
“I mean, what else are we going to do?” Keys interrupts, then huffs a laugh that gets caught in his throat. “Go back to our rooms right now and pretend like we can’t hear each other getting off? Tell me.”
Oh, shit.
So he could hear you, too? God, it’s been torture listening to his uneven breathing though the thin wall. The slick sounds of him stroking his cock late at night. Those quiet groans that escape him when he thinks you’re asleep.
That one time you swore he said your name…
Heat rushes to your cheeks, but you shift to relieve some pressure on your aching clit just as his hand slips under the pillow on his lap, and your elbows bump together.
The contact forces both of you apart like lightning struck the couch cushions.
Keys rakes a hand through his hair, clutching the pillow to his groin like a fucking shield.
He clambers backwards into the other side of the couch while you shuffle in the opposite direction until your lower back hits the arm rest.
Both of you stare at each other, barely breathing.
All it would take is one of you walking out for all this to come to a screeching halt, but neither of you even glances toward the doorway.
“Okay, wait,” Keys says, “Let’s just…take a second here and think. Because what if…” His eyes catch yours and a shiver rolls through you. “What if we don’t break the rule?”
You watch his lips part, listen to his soft exhale— like he surprised himself by even saying that out loud—while your heart beats out of your chest. You know what he’s suggesting.
You’re just two friends who got horny from a sex scene, right? Right. Two friends who have made out twice in the past and swore they wouldn’t again, but, you know.
Semantics.
“We probably shouldn’t…” you breathe. But even as the words leave your lips, your finger twitches against the waistband of your sleep shorts.
His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, eyes dropping to your clothed cunt. “Yeah, you’re right….we shouldn’t…”
Your knees fall open slowly—one resting against the couch, while your other leg dangles comfortably off the cushions. Then, under his watchful gaze, your hand hesitantly pushes past your waistband.
“No, no, keep going. I mean—only if you want to, of course. But it’s hot. It’s really hot.” He swallows. “You’re really hot.”
A warm feeling settles in your gut at his words, and suddenly, you want nothing more than to see what you do to him. Your finger isn’t even to your clit yet, but just his eyes on you has it pulsing with your heartbeat.
He lets out a shaky exhale, and his fingers close around the orange throw pillow. God, you’ve never noticed how big his hands are before.
Have they always been that—? Oh, shit.
He pulls the pillow off his lap, giving you a stunning view of his erection pressing against his grey sweatpants.
Nevermind about the hands, now that is big.
Even from across the couch, you can see his waistband gaping from stomach, the thick tip pushing it away from his happy trail.
“Take it out,” you say.
Your cheeks burn from embarrassment at your eagerness, but you hardly feel the sting of shame anymore. Not when he’s right here, so close to you, looking like he’s been just as consumed by you as you’ve been with him.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” you pant, eyes locked on where his hand inches closer to his cock. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with that, right? We’re not touching.”
“Yeah,” he lets out a stuttering breath as he squeezes his length through his pants. “Yeah, okay.”
As you watch him from under heavy lids, he pushes his sweatpants down, taking his underwear with them, and his flushed cock lands against his stomach with a soft plop. It sits heavy against the course trail of hair leading down, and your tongue twirls against your teeth, aching to run over it. Your fingers finally circle your clit, and the rush of pleasure makes you lightheaded.
“You lied to me, you know,” he rasps.
You watch as his big hand wraps around his dick…and half of it still sticks out above his fingers. He gives it one long stroke that has your back arching instinctually against the couch’s arm rest.
You blink up over him, mind hazy. “W-wait, what?”
There’s a teasing look in his eye, even as he strokes himself in front of you. “It was turning you on, you just couldn’t admit it.”
Oh. The show. You’d almost forgotten about it.
“I mean, sure, it was hot…I guess,” you stutter, face burning. “But Keys, you were sitting so close, and I—”
“Yeah, I know,” he groans, eyes dropping to your hard nipples pushing at your shirt. “Trust me. I know.”
A part of you has wondered what it would look like—all this tension between you finally hitting a breaking point and boiling over.
Apparently, it looks like this.
Watching each other masturbate on opposite ends of the couch.
Your panties stick to your folds, hot and wet against your knuckles and Keys watches your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you press tight, hard circles against your clit under the fabric.
“God, this isn’t fair, though,” he grunts. “You still have your shorts on, and I’m—” His hips grind up into his hand and he pushes his glasses higher on his nose in agitation. “Fuck—let me see you. Please?”
You’re powerless when he starts begging.
With trembling fingers, you dig your thumbs under your waistband and slide both your shorts and your panties down your thighs, exposing your glistening cunt to his gaze.
He groans, like this sight is actually hurting him. “Look at you, you’re so wet. I really…fuck, I really want to touch you. I mean, I really…” He swallows hard, and his eyes snag on the pink panties still dangling from your fingers. “Toss those over.”
You blink. “What?”
Keys can barely form words, too busy looking at that damp spot where your arousal soaked through the fabric.
“Please?” he begs. “I know I can’t touch you, but…fuck, I can taste you, right? That’s allowed?”
Your mouth parts in surprise, a shaky inhale caught in your throat. You never suspected Keys to be like this. Desperate, and eager, and…downright needy.
You’re not exactly sure what makes you decide to toss them over, the pink lace landing in a small heap over his knee. Maybe you just want to see how far you can take this rule of yours. How much you can get away with.
His big palm envelops the fabric instantly, and he drags it up to his face. A shaky inhale catches in your throat as he breathes you in, his lashes fluttering shut with a moan. Then his mouth parts, his tongue flicks over the damp spot. And all of a sudden, all you can picture is his tongue doing the same thing to your cunt.
That silky, wet heat exploring you in that curious, but earnest way of his. Searching for those spots that make your thighs clench around his head, inevitably turning you into a writhing, moaning mess underneath him.
“God, you taste so good.” His head falls back on a groan as pre-cum beads at his slit. “I’ve thought about you so much. Thought about what it would be like to—” His jaw ticks, and he hesitates.
“Talking isn’t against the rule,” you remind him breathlessly.
“Okay, okay, fine,” he groans, stomach muscles clenching under his shirt. “Every time we pass each other in the hall, I want to kiss you. I really want to kiss you again. And I want you to curl your hands in my hair like you did that one night while you…” he swallows hard. “While you ride me in my bed.”
“I want that too,” you gasp, and the ache between your hips turns ravenous, sharp claws of need digging into you, leaving you red-faced and moaning.
Your breath shudders as you watch his thighs fall open a little more. His cock twitches in his hand and your lashes threaten to slip shut just thinking about how badly you want to choke on it for him.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he mumbles. “You’re so fucking pretty, oh my god.”
“Keys,” you whine. Your hips buck up into your hand shamelessly, wishing it was his fingers circling your clit instead. They look so strong in the candlelight, the veins around his knuckles shifting with every stroke of his cock.
His Adam’s apple bobs on a swallow, and his eyes search your face. “I know, I know. You want me to help?”
You nod frantically, not even sure what you’re agreeing to, but Keys lets go of his dick to take off his sweatpants fully.
“What are you—” you start, but the sight of him shuffling forward and kneeling on the couch in front of you whisks all thoughts from your mind.
“Can I…” He swallows, brown eyes catching yours. “Can I help? I won’t touch you, I promise.”
“Yes” you whisper. “Please.”
Curious, your hand slows on your clit as he leans forward, elbows digging into the fabric couch, and oh—fuck. Now, his mouth is so close to you! He may have promised not to touch you, but suddenly, you want nothing more than to arch your back and close the distance,
Gently, and with a precision you would expect from your neat and tidy roommate, Keys purses his lips, and warm spit falls from his mouth—right onto your clit.
His breath ghosts over your throbbing cunt and you’re trembling with the effort it takes to hold yourself back from bucking up into his face, from making his plush lips hit your mound and slide all over your folds.
“Rub that in for me,” he commands, and you do what he says. Your heart thrashes in your chest as he remains there, panting. A stuttering exhale escapes him, his brown orbs pinned to your fingers. “Yeah—fuck, just like that. Does that feel good?”
Your thoughts collide and dissipate over and over again, too strung out on the idea of his mouth on you to even form a real thought.
“Mmhhmm.”
His chin tilts towards you, like his neck can’t support the weight of how desperately he wants to lick your pussy.
You whimper, eyes connecting with his. “N-nobody would know, right?”
He curses under his breath, hand twitching on the couch cushion, an inch from your thigh.
“If you got fired because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself, and ruin your chances at getting that job at Pixel? I’d never forgive myself.”
His words should serve as an icy reminder, dumping ice water all over your arousal, and putting some sense into you both. But, for some reason, the fact that he remembers the name of the studio you interviewed at recently, and cares so deeply about your future, just makes you burn even brighter for him.
You open your mouth, seconds away from begging him to touch you, but cold air rushes between your thighs as he retreats back into his side of the couch, taking his hard cock in his hand again. He murmurs something encouraging, but you barely hear it, too consumed by the deep ache in your core.
Something about this feels like crossing another line. Not one that breaks your rule, but one that shatters every wall you’ve put up between him and your heart.
The dirty, raw truth of it is that Walter McKeys is it for you.
He is.
You haven’t gone on a date in months, and you haven’t wanted to.
You’ve ‘accidentally’ let your fingers brush his more times than you can count, just so you’d have an excuse to eat dinner together.
Every pass of your thumb over your wet clit has tight tremors coursing through your hips, and when you dip your fingers inside your slick channel, your stomach jerks with a preemptive wave of pleasure.
“Oh, fuck, are you gonna come?” Keys pants. His hand speeds up on his dick, and his lids grow heavy as he watches you chase your climax. “Fuck yeah, baby. Come for me, pretty girl. Just like that. You’re doing so good—”
The praise sends you over the edge.
You cry out as the hot band finally snaps. Your walls pulse heavily around your fingers as your orgasm tears through you. Keys curses again, groaning as he watches you slowly stroke yourself through the aftershocks.
When your lashes finally lift and your gazes connect, he looks positively wrecked.
His hair is mussed, his glasses askew on his nose. His shirt is rumpled, stretched over his pecs and biceps, and his thighs are spread wide in front of him, his cock angry and red in his hand.
Suddenly, you start to feel a little sympathetic. He helped you, so he deserves a little help too. It’s only fair.
Slowly, you rise to your knees and strip off your shirt. He makes a choked sound as it falls beside the couch in a rumpled heap, leaving your breasts on full display in the candlelight. Your nipples are hard, aching for his touch.
Keys looks up at you, his hand slowing on his dick. But as you crawl towards him, his lip disappears between his teeth.
“Are you going to be good?” you whisper, rising onto your knees. Saliva pools in your mouth as you brace yourself over him, careful not to touch his skin.
“Shit—yeah, I’ll be good,” he pants. “I swear. I swear I won’t move, just—”
He cuts himself off with a stuttering grunt as you lean forward and let the spit fall from your lips, right onto the swollen head of his cock. Your saliva slides down his aching tip, gleaming in the dim light, and his hand starts up again instantly, smearing it up and down shaft.
“Fuck, yeah,” he grunts. “Oh, yeah, that’s—fuck, that’s so—you’re so—”
His head tips back at the warm, slick feeling of your spit, and the sound of him stroking himself sends another mind-numbing jolt of arousal through your spine.
“God, can I come on you?” His eyes drop to your chest. “On those pretty tits? Please?”
You nod eagerly and shuffle back against the couch, looking up at him.
“Lie back for me, okay?” he says. “Yeah, just like that. Don’t worry, I won’t touch you.”
Oh, but you wish he would.
Fuck the rule. It was so stupid to begin with.
His arm shoots out to hold himself up against the couch as he kneels over you and starts jerking off again, each pass of his palm making a shlick sound that has you throbbing again already.
God, how are you ever going to be able to sit on this couch again without thinking of him like this? The way his glasses fog up with every whimpering exhale, how his hips buck up into his hand when his eyes catch yours?
His lips part as his thighs lock up, his dick pulsing in his hand. You arch your back, an invitation in the candlelight. A canvas, just for him. His core flexes rhythmically under his shirt and he groans as his climax rolls through him. Hot ropes of come paint your stomach and tits, and before you know it, you’re face-to-face, panting into each other’s mouths.
Still not touching.
But when Keys lowers his head, his breath ghosting along your cheek, your lashes flutter shut, and—
A loud ding suddenly sounds through your apartment. You both startle, and his arm brushes yours in the process.
“Shit,” you mutter, scrambling for your phone on the coffee table and squinting at the screen. “It’s an email from Pixel.”
Keys ducks closer, eyes roving the screen in your hand. “What does it say?”
“‘We’re delighted to offer you a position at…’” you trail off. “Oh my God!”
“You got the job?”
You nod slowly, heart hammering in your throat. “I got the job!”
Both of you turn to each other, eyes wide and searching for all of two seconds before Keys reaches for you, and you reach for him, and before you know it, you’re kissing.
His lips are soft and warm against yours, and he’s smiling into your mouth, his nose brushing your cheek, glasses knocking into your closed lids. It’s a messy, breathless kiss, full of laughter and hands wandering everywhere.
“You know this means I can take you on a date, right?” He murmurs, not pulling back from you. “Tomorrow. No takeout this time. A real dinner, you and me.”
“Yeah,” your heart swells, and you smirk against his lips. “And remember, you’re buying.”
note from gray: here’s the fluffy sister fic if you want to read it! The inspiration for Quinn is from this mood board of jester!Eddie, thank you anon for participating in my 3k special event! you can also check out more headcannons for him here by @basicallydjo if you want! 🩶 (also, yes Quinn as in Joseph Quinn, and did you catch the song lyrics from Djo’s song ‘Fool’ in his dialogue? i know you did)
warnings: +18 MDNI, explicit sexual content, porn no plot, masturbation (f!receiving), dom!gator, denied orgasm, use of handcuffs, dirty talk, interruption, unprotected p in v
summary: your boyfriend Gator has been working late, and you needed him. he arrives home and finds you touching yourself thinking about him
a/n: sorry i didn't like this one, i had the idea and tried to do my best. feedback is always appreciated so i can improve! ARIANA TITLE IN HONOR OF PETAL (i made gator a bit tougher than i wanted to)
wc: 3.4k
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The house felt empty again, too big to be alone for several hours. You hated the fact that you were starting to get used to this feeling. You’d been watching TV for a while now after eating dinner. Waiting desperately for your company to come home. As you pulled a blanket over yourself on the couch, the television light kept hitting your face. It all felt cold and lonely, you hated feeling that way. Helplessly alone for hours, you weren't going to go out late at night.
You didn't know how much longer it would take for Gator to come home, you never knew exactly. He is a deputy officer, he usually works shifts and late hours. He likes his job enough to stay late at work, and he always comes home exhausted after that. Tonight was like every other night, he still wasn't home with you. Doing everything alone feels so lonely, and even though you see him everyday, you can't help but feel like that.
He had never been the best boyfriend at all. In fact, he was kinda shitty most of the time. You had different ideals and he could be toxic many times. But he had something that was keeping you with him, both of you were crazy about each other. Something that made him never leave your mind.
You couldn't stop thinking about him all night long. The TV stopped in a cheesy romance movie, it’d already started but you kept watching it anyway – they were always so predictable – It was a very cliché film, nothing particularly special. But the thought of Gator kept popping into your mind throughout the entire movie. You didn't wanna bother with a call, or a text. You both agreed to only call in an emergency. So you just had to deal with it alone.
You stayed there for an hour until the movie finished, you totally predicted the ending as always. And somehow despite how shitty the movie was, everything reminded you of him, and how badly you needed to touch his skin.
Laying your back on the couch and staring at the ceiling made these thoughts creep into you. You missed him in a way other people would call insane, you needed him close to you. And fuck, you keep thinking about him and his insanely beautiful body… His hands, his hairy chest, the freckles he has on his body… And of course, his big cock. You wanted him to be with you at this very moment, the heat had started to invade every of your senses.
You tilted your head back against the armrest, letting out a big sigh of frustration. You could feel the dampness of your body through your clothes, a constant feeling reminding you of him. The time seemed like it was going slower than usual, and you were starting to grow impatient at this point.
One of your hands unconsciously starts roaming down your body, contrasting the hotness of your skin. It reaches your pajama pants, slowly sliding under it. You keep glancing at the door constantly, longing for him to arrive for you. You spread one leg just the necessary to be comfortable.
Your fingers move down your underwear, finding your needy pussy. Slowly, you started to press down on your clit, circling it with a light pressure. You knew exactly how to start and how you liked it, but he also knows it. You pick up the pace a little, and start moving our fingers up and down, distributing your juices.
Your hand begins to work relentlessly on your clit at first, causing yourself to gasp. Your breath is deepening while your heart goes faster and faster. You slowly slide two fingers inside of you, your back arches slightly off the couch. You curl them together inside, but imagining they're his fingers instead. Desperately wanting his touch, this is all you had for now.
Your pace starts to quicken now. Wet sounds are filling the living room, and your sweet smell becomes impossible to ignore. You bury your fingers deeper in you, so close to hitting that one spot that made you scream. However, you couldn't quite reach it, his fingers are longer and thicker than yours, you need his hands to achieve that. Every thought about him was flooding your mind and make yourself move.
Still, you kept moving your hand without stopping. In and out your pussy, a tiny moan escapes from you. The hot coil in your stomach starts to tighten. In your mind, he's right here making you come. You had to wait for a while but the need got over you.
You were so close to finishing now, you moved your hand frantically, seeking the release. You could feel every nerve of your body tensing already, blinded by the thoughts of him. You were so absorbed by the feeling and your head is thrown back involuntarily. And when it happens, you see Gator finally standing at the door, staring at your act.
You stopped and pulled your hand out of your pants. Without getting to finish you quickly got up, softly running to him. You place a quick kiss on his lips. “I missed you” You are now hoping he'll help you since you always miss each other’s company. He had that same gel hairstyle he used and you didn't know why.
But, he doesn't answer right away like he always does. You look back at him, starting to get worried. You analyze his face for a second when he looks at you. He looks betrayed? Or even jealous you could say. That's when it hit you. He hated when you touched yourself alone and did not wait for him later.
“What do you think you're doing?” He spills his words harshly, but not actually intended to hurt. You play dumb, but being noticeably turned on by his tone. “I wasn't doing anything” You start to ramble on, however, your flushed cheeks say otherwise.
Gator grabs you by your wrist and lifts your hand. Bringing it close to his own mouth, he looks at you through his eyebrows. And takes your fingers in his mouth, he licks them clean. His brows are furrowed when he's tasting you, sucking your fingers, twirling them with tongue. He pulls them out with a pop. “You were touching yourself, huh? Were you thinking about me?”
You’re unable to speak, you just nod slightly but he notices. Of course, how could he not? You could start to feel the heat radiating off from both of you. His hands grip your hips tightly, you knew he would leave a mark. He wasn't usually like this but this situation pissed him off and turned him on at the same time, you knew for sure he was going to be an asshole tonight.
“I told you to wait for me a few times now” He says, his face still angry. Gator lifts you up by your thighs a little roughly, you had to grip onto his shoulder so you wouldn't fall. He carries you to the bedroom and throws you to the bed. Your chest was giving away your laboured breath.
His hands start to clumsily take off your pajama clothes, in a quick move. Pulling your shirt over your head and he realizes you don't have a bra on. He moves down to your breast to suck on your nipples while he takes off your pants and underwear all at once, in one move. He moves to your other nipple as he notices your breathy moans. Taking his time to kiss your entire torso slowly to torture you a little.
He abruptly pulls away from you, leaving you hot and confused laid down on the bed. You look at him, flushed. “What's wrong?” You ask him a little breathless. He just arches one eyebrow and looks at you.
“You really thought it wouldn't have any consequences, right?” You open your mouth to say something but you end up stuttering and shutting up. You felt vulnerable, naked, needy and exposed completely to him. You could practically feel yourself dripping after waiting all night long and not being able to come on your own.
“I’m not gonna touch you yet” You start to protest before he cuts you off. “You’re gonna touch yourself, and I’m gonna watch” He states firmly. The blood rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment, you couldn't believe what he was telling you to do. You waited for a second to see if he was serious. He wasn't gonna cave in, and you knew you had to do it if you wanted to have him by the end of the night.
You sighed shakily while you slowly spread your legs on the bed. He sat down on the desk chair, with his eyes locked on your body, staring at your every move. The air felt dense and too hot to breathe in. Your legs are as far as you could reach by your own, they'd already begun to tremble slightly. You had to take a deep breath before continuing.
To begin with this madness, your hands grab your breasts, caressing and moving them around. Your thumbs start to play with your nipples gently. As Gator was sitting there still wearing his uniform, you see his bulge starting to grow harder, becoming noticeable through the pants he was wearing. And luckily that was such a turn on for you.
You slid your right hand down your body, reaching your aching core. Finally, you let yourself touch your clit again, starting to build up the interrupted feeling. You decide to start increasing the pressure a bit, letting yourself enjoy it too, even though you desperately need him to touch and take care of you. But you know he's watching and is punishing you in this certain way. You had no choice actually.
The speed of your hand starts to get just a little faster, your back arches gently off the mattress, also trying to turn him on and make it impossible to resist for him. So, you started to let out soft moans, they left your body from the back of your throat needily. You started to tease your hole with your index and middle finger. You try to make every slight movement the most seductive possible.
His eyes were staring intensely at you, he had such a powerful effect on you. You slide your fingers into your pussy, letting out a louder moan. Beginning to pump your fingers in and out of you while curling them to touch that perfect spot you knew he liked. His brows are starting to furrow, you know he is containing himself so hard, but he won't touch you yet until he feels like it.
You bring your free hand to touch your clit too. Now, both of your hands are working roughly on your pussy, moans are starting to get louder and more desperate. You had to tilt your head back through the pleasure you're giving yourself. But also to be more dramatic, you wanted him. “Please Gator… Shit” You were audibly getting closer, but you still won't let yourself come. “You can keep going, I know it” He says playing tough but you know he's encouraging you.
The distance between you two is starting to get intoxicating. You lock your eyes with his intensely, letting him feel what you’re feeling with just your gaze. He has been observing every little detail of you from a distance. The wet sounds of your pussy being pleased by your hands were filling the room, and entering him. It was starting to affect him the same as it was affecting you.
You speed up both of your hands, wanting to reach that peak you were so needy about. So much that your legs started to shake more than before. The chair Gator was sitting on creaks when he stands up quickly. You kept looking at him, yet seeking for your orgasm.
He grabs your hands by your wrists and pulls them away from your pussy. “You don't get to come until I say so, okay?” You notice he's trying to play tough when he's dying inside. You knew him so well to know that. You let out a frustrated sound, a mix from a moan and a sigh.
Gator pulls your wrists together and grabs them with his huge hand. While the other one was grabbing the handcuffs that were hanging from his uniform pants. As soon as he takes them off, he pulls them around your wrists, restricting movement from you. He leaves you attached to the bedframe, your whole face was red. He pulls back for a second to admire you, and chuckles softly cocky. The soft metal against your skin was contrasting your heat and intoxicating you.
“Please… I’ll be good, just let me come” You tried begging him to touch you. He kept you waiting for a few seconds before his right hand started to work fastly on your clit. He stops focusing on your clit so he can slide two digits through your hole. Your body arches violently as he moves faster and deeper inside you, hitting every over sensitive spot.
He places his free hand firmly on your stomach, pressing you down onto the mattress. “You’ve been a filthy girl, huh? Deal with the consequences now” He whispers dirty words close to your ear, knowing damn well you're dying to touch him. He moves down to bite on one of your nipples, you moan at the sudden sharpness. His hand keeps moving frantically, and now he roams down your body biting you entirely.
You’re moaning uncontrollably and your legs are threatening to close around his hand. Your hands are desiring to touch his skin on their own, and they're restrained. The bed moves in the rhythm your body is squirming to. “Let me come, Gator… Please” You made your best attempt in forming a coherent sentence, desperate for release.
He waits for a few seconds torturing you while his hand keeps moving faster in you. No one has ever touched you like this. “Come for me now” He finally gives you permission but he uses a demanding tone on you. His eyes are locked on you, he's watching every move you make, ready to watch you come undone on his fingers.
The orgasm crashes onto you hard, the over sensitivity of your body makes it even better. Your body didn't even know where else to move. One single tear falls from your eye due to the overwhelming feelings. He keeps moving, prolonging it as long as you can handle it. The metal around your wrists keep sounding at the movement of your arms. You have to bite your lip to pull back a few of your screams.
He suddenly pulled his fingers off when you're finally coming down from the peak. You stay there laying down, your breath is ragged and your body hot. You’re waiting for him to take the handcuffs off you, he doesn't. “Oh no no, I’m not done with you yet, baby” He mutters as his hands roam through your body. A wave of excitement rushes over you, the anticipation you’ve been having all day long.
Gator’s hands start to slowly undo the buttons on his shirt. One button at a time, making you watch everything. He reaches the last one and his shirt falls down his shoulders, he throws it somewhere over the floor. He takes off his belt followed by unclasping the button of his pants. With the slow pace he pulls them down to his knees, until he takes the pants off completely. You can now see his hard cock through the underwear, your mouth almost starts to water.
His fingers hooked into the elastic of the boxers that were holding tight onto his hips. He pulls them down after the long wait, also throwing them across the room. Letting his cock spring free, standing up and hard just for you. You could see his tip red already shiny with precum. He was so hard after watching you touch yourself like that it looked like it hurt him.
He grabs your ankles with his hands and pulls your legs over his shoulders. You are completely exposed to him at this point. The mix of your breaths felt heavy in the air. He was so dangerous to you, he could ruin you entirely in any way. He gives one soft kiss to your ankle before sharply sliding into you completely.
Every inch of him is inside of you in one second, you feel every small vein he has and every little twitch he makes. He doesn't give you time to adapt – even though you're really used to his dick – and he pulls almost all the way out before sliding back in with one deep thrust, taking away your breath in a moan.
Gator sets a brutal pace, he's not gonna go any easy on you and you know it well. His hands grab your hips firmly as she practically shakes your body. Your breasts moving to the rhythm of his thrusts. He hits your deepest spot every single time he drives into you.
His eyes locked in your disheveled expression, his upper body crawls on top of you to capture your lips with his. While his hips move ferociously into yours, his tongue and lips suck at yours. He bites your lower lip, stretching it slightly to him before his tongue plays with yours again. The sound of your skins against each other is like music to you.
He lets out a strangled groan against your mouth, and then buries his face into your neck to bite it. His teeth nip on your neck and his tongue soothes it out a little. He rolls frantically into your wet pussy, his throbbing cock is quivering inside of you, so much that you can feel it. You cry out loudly for every thrust.
“Eyes on me, now” He demands and you look directly into his eyes. Your glistening gaze is hypnotizing to him, you notice it when his pace starts faltering slightly. Your thighs are threatening to close, instead, they shake uncontrollably. The burning ache in your stomach starts to throb. You’re so full of him you can't even think straight anymore.
Your body tightens, your arms hovering your body start to get numb. The desire in you is strong, your gaze locks with his as a plea. Gator holds onto your waist tighter and moves faster, seeking desperately for both of your releases.
Your climax strikes you hard like thunder. Your pussy pulsates around him. You are so blissed out and your back arches violently, your moans turned into screams by now. His name escaped from your lips loudly.
You were squeezing him so tight, until his hips started to lose their rhythm. You can see the muscles in his abdomen tightening. He spills hot into you in needy spasms. He prolongs your orgasms as long as he can.
The shockwaves consumed your bodies, both of you were catching breath. Sweat and musky scent filled your senses, completely intoxicating.
He pulled out slowly, a string of your fluids mixed together followed him. He took a deep breath and grabbed the key to release your wrists from the handcuffs gently. It's weird seeing his gentle attitude after all that. He might be controversial for everyone, but he was so addictive.
He placed the handcuffs on the bedside table. You moved your wrists and took his face in your hands to pull him into a kiss. The connection of your lips is still heated but with a hint of softness behind.
Without breaking the kiss, Gator turns around and takes you with him, pulling you on top of him. You pull back from the kiss and lay your head on his chest. “You did amazing. But never touch yourself again, just wait for me” You chuckle softly at his words, yet you nod.
His body starts to relax. It doesn't take long before he falls asleep from the exhaustion of the work day. In a few minutes, the chest you're laying on moves slowly from the soft breath. You allow yourself to relax now and get absorbed by your dreams.
summary: your neighbour gets tired of your constant loud noises and decides to take matters into his own hands.
warnings: smut +18 mdni, mention of alcohol, cursing, kissing, nipple play, p in v, unprotected sex, spit play & cum play.
wc: 2,1k
author's note: this is for juana whom i initially wrote this for as a joke... and for las nenas because they'd kill me if i didn't mention them. also, this is my first fic ever and english isn't my first language, so proceed at your own risk...
it was 11 p.m. on a saturday night, all keys could hear in his apartment was the frantic typing on his keyboard, the consequence of yet another project cutting too close to the deadline and being stuck rewriting his coworkers’ sloppy code.
well he could hear that... and also the bass thumping through the wall from the apartment next door; ever since a new neighbor had moved in, it had become a common occurrence to get almost no sleep on weekends thanks to their parties.
he usually didn't mind the noise that much, he would put on his noise-cancelling headphones and tune it out, but tonight he couldn't afford distractions, he had to finish fixing those glitches on the game. he was already getting a headache and his mood was worsening increasingly as the music and laughs next door grew louder and louder.
two minutes before midnight he finally had enough. he didn't want to be the cranky next door neighbour but he wasn't taking any chances with this project; he had to get it done by the end of the weekend and that was not going to happen unless he got some actual peace and quiet to concentrate.
he let out a heavy, defeated sigh, got up from his desk, walked to the front door and paused for a few seconds, contemplating if he was really going to go through with this. deciding there was no other choice, he stepped out into the hallway, walked next door, and knocked three times.
a minute passed and he knocked again, harder this time. no answer.
losing his patience on the third try, he simply turned the knob and walked straight in. the music was even louder in there, no wonder no one had answered, he squinted his eyes trying to see something between the low lighting and the mass of bodies grinding against each other. that’s when it hit him: he had no clue who he was looking for; he didn't even know what his new neighbor looked like. how could he, when he barely ever left his own apartment?
suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder and when turned around he was caught off guard by the pretty girl apparently talking to him.
"um, what?" he cleared his throat confused.
"i said, who are you?!" you yelled over the loud music.
"well, i could ask you the same thing!" he yelled back, nervously adjusting his glasses.
"you're the one who just walked into my apartment..."
that's when he finally realized.
"oh... i’m keys... well, i’m actually walter but everyone calls me keys i mean, i'm your neighbour... apartment 3B?"
"nice to meet you... keys" you said with an extended hand.
he brushed it off.
"look, we can do introductions later. i need you to turn down the music. it's making my head feel like it's about to split in half."
"why would i turn off the music at my own party where you showed up uninvited?"
"because some people are actually trying to work, and your music can be heard throughout the entire fucking building!"
"work? on saturday night?" you asked, confused and starting to get irritated by his tone.
keys was growing more and more frustrated as the loud noise was numbing his senses and you were starting to get on his nerves.
"i don't owe you any explanations," he said, crossing his arms tightly "you either turn the music down, or i call the cops and let them handle it."
you couldn't believe the audacity of this guy, showing up at your place, being rude as fuck, and demanding things. your vision was a little blurry from the drinks you’d had so far, but you couldn't help but notice that this angry neighbor named... keys?... was actually not bad looking at all.
his hair was messy, obviously from how many times he’d run his hands through it in the span of this 3 minute conversation, his glasses were a little smudged because he kept nervously fixing them and he was wearing some dorky star wars t-shirt. you weren't about to let him crash the party while everyone was having such a good time; maybe it was time to take a slightly different approach.
you took a step closer.
"mmh, you know what? maybe you should just stick around..." you murmured casually, licking your lips and smirking when you caught his gaze dropping to follow the movement.
"what?" he asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.
you nodded.
"yeah.. working on a saturday night... maybe all you need after all is to loosen up a little, have a few drinks... maybe it'll stop you from being an obnoxious asshole."
"what did you just call me?"
"oh, you heard me loud and cl-"
you couldn't finish the sentence before he stepped into your space, backing you up against the wall and putting a hand over your mouth to shut you up.
"i dare you to finish that thought," he whispered, his voice suddenly dark and low.
your eyes widened and you looked at him with a strange mix of fear and lust, you knew you shouldn't be feeling this way about a literal stranger… but the drinks you had so far and the heat of his body pressed against yours was making it impossible to think straight.
you gently pulled his hand down from your lips, batting your eyelashes. "or what? what exactly are you going to do about it?"
he suddenly looked around, conscious of how many people were surrounding the both of you; not like anyone was paying attention anyways. noticing his hesitation, you pushed him off softly, wrapped your fingers around his wrist, and led him straight toward the bathroom.
once you were both inside, you clicked the lock into place. turning back to him, you smirked. "now, what were you saying...?"
keys didn't waste another second, he stepped forward, gripped your waist with both of his hands, and smashed his lips against yours, backing you up until your lower back hit the edge of the cold bathroom counter. the kiss was rushed and sloppy, your tongues mixing, driven by pure adrenaline as the heavy bass still vibrated through the bathroom walls.
he pulled away for a second, breathing heavily, knowing that he should stop this now. yeah, it had been a while since he had sex and maybe you were right about how he needed to loosen up, but fucking the neighbour that he has just met not even half an hour ago was not the right way to do so, no matter what the obvious bulge on his pants said.
keys didn't have much time to overthink before you gripped his shirt and pulled him back against you, hooking a leg over his to press him closer.
he got the hint and groaning against your mouth, he gripped your hips and lifted you effortlessly onto the counter, stepping between your legs and pressing his erection against your center. his mouth was back on yours again; he nipped at your bottom lip, sliding his tongue into your mouth in a slower and deeper rhythm that made your head spin.
his hand started to make his way up beneath your shirt, then he pulled back for a fraction of a second, his eyes searching for yours in a silent question. the moment you nodded he eagerly helped you take it off, exposing your skin to the cool bathroom air, and immediately got to work; cupping one of your breasts with his firm, warm hand while dropping his mouth to the other, swirling his tongue around your nipple before gently biting and sucking. you gasped, arching against him while you reached down for his belt, unbuckling it with trembling, impatient fingers.
you pulled his zipper down, your knuckles brushing against the hot fabric of his underwear which made him let out a sharp breath. he spread your thighs wider, lifting your skirt up and brushing his long fingers over your already soaked panties. he smirked against you when he noticed how wet you were, then pressed his thumb firmly over your clit through the damp fabric, holding it there long enough to tease you and deliberately refusing to move it any further. grabbing him by his hair, you pulled his face back to yours and murmured against his lips, “please…”
“do you have any condoms here?”
you sighed in frustration. “no… but i’m clean and on the pill. you can just pull out.”
he nodded and he took his length out of his pants; you didn't even have time to register his impressive size before he brought his hand up to your mouth “spit,” he commanded with a dark voice.
you complied.
he used your spit to stroke his dick a few times, letting out a low groan, then not even bothering to take your underwear off, he just pushed the fabric to the side, dragged his tip across your folds, circling on your clit before lining himself up and pushing his full length into you in one deep thrust.
the sudden, burning stretch left you speechless, your eyes widening as your breath caught in your throat. he stayed still for a moment, burying his face in the crook of your neck, giving you the chance to adjust to his thickness, and feeling it pulse inside you. then, he began to move.
he started a merciless pace, his hips slamming with force against yours, the heat of his skin making an abrupt contrast with the cold marble beneath you; your moans were muffled by the party still going on outside so you didn't bother to hold them back. keys looked like a beautiful mess, lips parted, letting out ragged breaths, eyes barely open and his glasses completely fogged. you felt so full you couldn't even think straight.
“keys… fuck, fuck…”
“maybe this will teach you to do what i say next time,” he said, accentuating his words with an even deeper thrust.
“i- mmgh…” you couldn’t even form a proper reply as he hit your sweet spot again and again. desperate for more you wrapped your legs against his waist pulling him as deep as he could possibly go.
he leaned down, lips brushing against your ear, "you like being loud, don't you? let's see if you can scream my name louder than that fucking music outside." he asked as he picked up the speed.
"keys- please” you gasped, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.
listening to your pleas he guided his hand down between your bodies rubbing on your clit in perfect sync with his thrusts, driving you right over the edge; the double stimulation was too much, you arched your back, your walls clamping down around him tight as you came, crying out his name.
he gave a few more desperate thrusts while you rode your climax, cursing at the way your walls were squeezing him then pulled out, gripping his length and stroking himself
as he came all over your stomach, letting out low grunts with every spurt.
you both stayed completely still for a moment, trying to catch your breath, praying that no one had passed close enough to the bathroom to have heard any of that.
when you made a move to reach for the towel to clean yourself up, he pushed your hand away softly; leaned down, eyes locking onto yours as he licked the warm fluid pooling on your stomach. once he gathered most of it, he pulled back up to capture your mouth, and fed it back to you in a deep kiss.
he finally broke the kiss and you both stayed completely still for a few seconds as the adrenaline slowly started to fade.
the contrast of the sudden quiet inside the bathroom hit you immediately; keys ran a hand through his completely ruined hair and adjusted his fogged glasses, swallowing hard as he fixed his pants and buckled his belt back on.
you slid off the counter, put your shirt back on and fixed your skirt and underwear making sure he was watching every move; you walked past him toward the door, hand resting on the knob before you paused.
"i'm turning the music down half a notch," you said, looking back over your shoulder for a second with a smug smirk "just because you asked so nicely."
then you opened the door and walked out, letting the loud music swallow you back in, leaving keys alone in the quiet bathroom to try and figure out what the hell had just happened.
hiii idk if this is an odd fic request or not but I feel like it would be so hot to make a little at home sex tape with joe that you both can watch when he’s away I just know he would be so into the cinematography of it all 🫣 if you don’t feel comfortable writing something like that though i totally get it!!
first of all… thank you SO much for sending this request in because OH. MY. GOD. 😭 i had so much fun writing this one
i fear this is PURE filth from start to finish and i take absolutely no responsibility for the consequences 💀
i really hope i managed to do your idea justice because i ended up getting completely carried away with it... enjoy <3
for your eyes only
Joe Keery x reader
Summary: It starts with Joe setting up his phone at the end of the bed. Somehow, it becomes one of the most intimate nights you've ever shared.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, smut, sex tape, fingering, oral (m receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, filthy™, voyeuristic elements, theyre both major switches tbh, theyre also so in love its sickening, consent is sexy (lmk if i missed anything)
W/C: 7k
A/N: lmk if you enjoyed this and if you'd want a part two!! i already have a little idea floating around where joe's away on tour and they both end up watching the video separately - him in a hotel room, her back home - and neither of them can quite keep their hands to themselves… which may or may not end with a very distracting phone call. maybe. just maybe…
Read more of my writing here: [masterlist]
If you want to be added to my taglist, leave a comment to lmk!
The phone looks small in Joe's hand. He holds it face-up, screen dark, the way he might hold a guitar pick before a show - testing its weight, turning it over once. You watch from the foot of the bed, arms crossed, the strap of your tank top slipping off one shoulder. The bedroom is dim, just the bedside lamp on the lowest setting, casting long shadows across the rumpled sheets.
"Perfect spot," he says, more to himself than to you. He sets the phone on the dresser, edges it forward a quarter inch, then back. His thumb drags along the side until the camera lens aligns exactly with the bed. He checks the angle by bending to look through the viewfinder, his curls falling forward, and you watch the way his brow furrows in concentration.
You've seen that look a hundred times - in the studio, bent over a mixing board, or on stage mid-solo, lost in the music. But this is different. This is your shared bedroom, and he's framing a shot of your shared bed.
"You're overthinking it," you say.
"I want to get the whole bed." He straightens, tilts the phone up a fraction. "And the headboard. The headboard's important."
"The headboard?"
"It's a character. Trust me." He grins at you, that boyish flash, and your stomach tightens the way it always does when he looks at you like that - like you're the only person in the world worth teasing.
He presses the red button. A soft click. Then a tiny red light appears, steady and unblinking.
The room changes. The air thickens. You feel the weight of that light like a third person in the room, watching, waiting. Your arms tighten across your chest.
There's a beat of silence. Joe stands with his back to you, hands resting on the edge of the dresser, looking at the phone. Then he takes a long breath, and you watch his shoulders drop - that exhale, the one he does before a set, before a difficult take, before he asks for what he wants.
He turns around.
The playful energy is still there, but underneath it something else has clicked into place. His hazel eyes are darker in the low light, fixed on you with an intensity that makes you forget, for a second, that the camera is even there.
"Hey," he says, soft.
"Hey."
He crosses to you. Three steps, and he's close enough that you can smell the faint cedar of his cologne, the trace of coffee still on his breath. He stops a foot away, not touching you yet, but close enough that you feel the heat coming off his body.
His hand lifts to your face. His fingers cup your jaw, thumb brushing across your lower lip - once, twice, a gesture so tender it makes your chest ache. You feel the callus on his thumbpad, the one from years of pressing down on guitar strings. It catches on the curve of your lip, and you shiver.
"Forget it's there," he murmurs, his voice low, almost a whisper. The words pool in the space between you. You want to do as he says. You try. But the red light is a pinprick in your peripheral vision, and you can feel yourself holding back, just a little - the part of you that's performing, that's aware of being watched.
Joe sees it. He always sees it.
His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, and he tugs gently - just enough to tilt your head back, to make you look up at him. His eyes search yours, and you feel that familiar rush of being seen, truly seen, the way only he can see you.
"You're beautiful," he says. Not as a line. As a fact. "I want to remember this. Every second. But I don't need the camera for that."
His thumb traces your jawline, slow, deliberate. You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding, and some of the tension unwinds from your shoulders.
"I know," you whisper. "It's just-"
"I know." He leans closer, his forehead resting against yours. "We can stop. We can erase it. We can just - be here. No camera. No nothing."
You feel the weight of the offer. The way he gives you an out, even now, even after setting it all up. That's Joe - always giving you the choice, always making sure you want this as much as he does.
And you want this. More than you've admitted, maybe more than you've let yourself feel. You want him to watch you later, alone in some hotel room, missing you. You want to watch him, later, your hand between your thighs, remembering. You want the video to exist - proof that you were here, like this, together, even when the miles stretch between you.
"I want it," you say, and your voice is steadier than you expected. "I want the camera. I want - this."
He pulls back just enough to look at you, and something in his expression softens. He nods once. Then his thumb finds your lip again, pressing gently, and you part your mouth on instinct.
"Good girl," he breathes, and the words hit you somewhere low in your belly, a hot pulse. His hand slides down to your shoulder, fingertips grazing the exposed skin where the strap slipped. He traces the line of your collarbone, featherlight, and you feel the goosebumps rise in his wake.
Your hands find his waist. The worn cotton of his T-shirt, the lean muscle underneath. You pull him closer, and your fingers curl into the fabric, anchoring yourself.
Joe tips your chin up with one knuckle. The gesture is so small, so casual, but it sends a message: look at me. Only me.
You do.
The bedroom has gone quiet. The only sounds are your breathing - the soft in-and-out, the rustle of fabric as he shifts closer. Somewhere outside, the distant hum of city traffic. A train horn, muffled. The tick of the bedside clock, measuring seconds that feel like hours.
His eyes drop to your mouth. Your lips part again, anticipating, and you feel the pull of him - the gravitational drag of his body, the heat of his skin inches from yours. You can see the flecks of gold in his irises, the slight unevenness of his stubble along his jaw, the tiny scar near his eyebrow from a childhood accident he's told you about a dozen times.
You know this face. You know the way his smile starts on one side of his mouth, the way his eyes crinkle when he's genuinely happy. But right now he's not smiling. He's focused, intent, and there's a hunger in his gaze that makes your stomach flip.
"Ready?" he asks, and his voice is rougher now, threaded with want.
You nod. Don't trust your voice.
He leans in, slow. Not the rushed kiss of a man who wants to get to the end - the deliberate kiss of a man who wants to savour the start. Your eyes flutter shut. You feel the warmth of his breath, the faint scent of him, and then his mouth meets yours in a deep, silencing kiss.
His mouth moves against yours with a patience that undoes you. Not hurried, not hungry in the way that demands - hungry in the way that savours, that draws out every second like he's memorising the shape of your lips, the soft sound you make when his tongue brushes against yours. His hand stays at the nape of your neck, fingers threading deeper into your hair, holding you exactly where he wants you.
You melt into him. There's no other word for it. Your spine softens, your hips tilt forward, your hands curl into the fabric of his shirt and pull him closer until there's no space left between you. You can feel the heat of his chest through the cotton, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your palms. His other hand finds your waist, fingers splaying across the curve, and he pulls you flush against him.
The camera's red light blinks in the corner of your vision. You're aware of it, distantly, the way you're aware of an open window when you're trying to sleep - there, but not worth opening your eyes for. Joe's thumb traces the line of your jaw, tilting your head just so, and the kiss deepens. His tongue slides against yours, slow and deliberate, and you make a sound low in your throat that you didn't plan.
Joe smiles against your mouth. You feel it, the curve of his lips, and you pull back just enough to glare at him.
"You're smiling."
"I'm happy." He says it against your lips, his voice a low murmur, and kisses you again before you can respond. This one is softer, teasing, a brush of lips that says I'm not done with you yet.
Your fingers find his curls. The texture is exactly what you knew it would be - soft, with a slight wave, the strands slipping through your fingers like water. You've touched his hair a thousand times, in a thousand different ways, but this time feels different. This time you're aware of every individual strand, the way they catch on your calluses, the way he leans into your touch like a cat seeking warmth.
His hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you closer, and you feel the hard line of his body against yours. The kiss turns slower, heavier, his breath warm and even against your cheek. You feel his thumb trace the curve of your hip, a lazy, possessive gesture that makes your stomach tighten.
Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, tracing the broad line of them, the way his frame fills out the t-shirt. He's lean but solid, the kind of build that comes from years of carrying gear and playing shows, not from a gym. You can feel the muscle shift under your palms as he adjusts his stance, bringing you closer to the edge of the bed.
The mattress hits the back of your knees. You gasp softly, the surprise pulling you out of the kiss for half a second, and he uses the moment to kiss the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the sensitive spot just below your ear. His stubble scrapes against your skin, and you shiver.
"I've got you," he whispers, his lips brushing your earlobe. His hand presses against your lower back, guiding you, and you let yourself fall backwards onto the mattress. The sheets are cool against your bare arms, a contrast to the heat of his body as he follows you down, one knee landing on the bed, then the other, until he's hovering over you.
He looks down at you. The bedside lamp catches the gold in his eyes, the soft fall of his curls framing his face. He's propped on one forearm, the other hand resting on your stomach, fingers spread wide. You can feel the warmth of his palm through the thin fabric of your tank top.
For a moment, neither of you moves. The only sounds are your breathing - his steady, yours shallow - and the distant hum of traffic from the street below. The camera's red light is a small, steady presence in your peripheral vision, but you're not thinking about it anymore. You're thinking about the weight of him above you, the way the lamp light shadows the hollow of his throat, the faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
"Hi," he says, soft.
"Hi."
Joe's thumb traces a slow circle on your stomach, just above your navel. The touch is light, almost absent, but you feel it everywhere - a line of heat spreading from his thumb through your whole body, settling low in your belly. Your hips shift beneath him, an unconscious roll, and his eyes darken.
"You're so beautiful," he says, and it's not a line. It's a confession, a quiet admission that he's saying it for himself, not for you. His thumb keeps moving, tracing lazy patterns on your skin, and you watch his face - the way his brow softens, the way his eyes trace the curve of your collarbone, the swell of your breasts beneath the tank top.
"I love watching you," he continues, his voice low, almost to himself. "The way you breathe. The way your lips part. The way your hips move when you want something." His thumb presses a little harder, a little lower, and you feel the warmth pool between your legs. "I want to remember all of it."
Your hands find his waist, fingers hooking into the hem of his shirt. You tug, and he gets the message, shifting back just enough to let you pull the shirt up and over his head. It lands somewhere on the floor, and then he's above you again, bare-chested, and you let yourself look.
His chest is lean, defined in the way that comes from natural movement rather than gym repetition. A scattering of hair carpets his chest, and a sparse trail of hair leads down his stomach, disappearing below the waistband of his jeans. His shoulders are broad, his arms corded with the kind of muscle that comes from years of playing guitar - forearms that know exactly how much pressure to apply, fingers that can find the right fret blindfolded.
You reach up, your fingers tracing the line of his collarbone, the dip of his sternum, the warm skin of his chest. He shivers under your touch, a small hitch in his breath, and you feel a surge of power - the knowledge that you can undo him as easily as he undoes you.
"Your turn," he says, his voice rough. His fingers find the strap of your tank top, sliding it down your shoulder with deliberate slowness. The fabric shifts, exposing the curve of your breast, the edge of your nipple. His eyes follow the movement, and you see his throat move as he swallows.
He doesn't rush. He pulls the other strap down, then drags the fabric lower, inch by inch, until your chest is bare. The air hits your skin, cool and electric, and you arch into the sensation, your back lifting off the mattress.
His gaze is hungry. He looks at you like you're something he's been waiting to see his whole life, and the intensity of it makes your breath catch. His hand moves from your stomach to your ribs, tracing the curve, then higher, until his palm cups your breast. His thumb brushes across your nipple, once, twice, and you gasp, your hips bucking beneath him.
"That good?" he asks, and there's a tease in his voice, but it's soft, reverent. He does it again, slower, watching your face, and you bite your lip to keep from moaning.
"Don't," he says, reaching up with his free hand to brush his thumb across your lower lip, parting them. "I want to hear you."
You let the sound escape - a low, breathy moan - and Joe's eyes flare with satisfaction. He leans down, his mouth replacing his hand, and the first touch of his lips on your nipple makes your back arch off the mattress. His tongue is warm, wet, tracing a slow circle around the peak before drawing it into his mouth. You feel the suction, the gentle scrape of his teeth, and your fingers find his hair, gripping, holding him there.
He works his way across your chest, kissing, licking, tasting, until both breasts are flushed and sensitive, your nipples tight and aching. You're gasping now, your hands roaming his back, his shoulders, the warm skin of his neck. His mouth finds the hollow of your throat, then your collarbone, then the space behind your ear, and each kiss feels like a brand, claiming you, marking you as his.
You're aware of the camera, somewhere in the room, but it's faded into the background now, as distant as the traffic outside. All that exists is the weight of him above you, the heat of his mouth on your skin, the slow, deliberate way he's taking you apart, piece by piece.
His hand slides down your stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, and you hold your breath. His fingers find the damp fabric of your underwear, and he lets out a low sound - approval, hunger, something raw that you feel in your own chest.
"You're wet," he murmurs against your throat, and the words are a caress, a promise. His fingers press against you through the fabric, applying gentle pressure, and you moan, your hips rolling into his hand.
"Joe."
"I know." He kisses your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. "I've got you."
His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down your hips, your thighs, past your knees. You lift your hips to help him, and the fabric slides away, leaving you in just your underwear. He sits back on his heels, looking at you, and the expression on his face is almost reverent - like he's seeing you for the first time, like he can't believe you're real.
The lamp light paints your skin in gold and shadow. You lie beneath him, bare-chested, your dark hair spread across the pillow, your lips parted, your chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. His eyes travel the length of you, from your face to your breasts to the curve of your hip, and he lets out a long, slow exhale.
"I could stay here forever," he says, and his voice is thick with want. "Just looking at you."
You shake your head slowly, your eyes finding his in the dim light. Your hand lifts, fingers brushing the curve of his jaw, and you feel the slight rasp of stubble against your palm. "Stop looking," you say, and your voice comes out lower than you expected, almost a command. "Touch me."
Something flickers in his hazel eyes - surprise, then heat, then a slow kind of reverence. He doesn't answer with words. His hand slides from your ribs down to your hip, fingers curling into the waistband of your underwear, and he tugs. The fabric drags over your skin, past your thighs, past your knees, and you lift your hips to let him take them all the way off. The air hits you, cool and sharp, and you feel the dampness between your legs, the anticipation pooling.
He doesn't look down. Not yet. He stays hovered above you, his eyes locked on yours, and the weight of his gaze is almost unbearable. "Like this?" he asks, his thumb tracing the jut of her hipbone, featherlight. "Or do you want more?"
You reach up again, this time fisting your hand in his curls, pulling his mouth down to yours. It's not a gentle kiss - it's a demand, your tongue sliding against his, your teeth catching his lower lip. He groans against your mouth, and you feel the sound vibrate through his chest, into your own. "More," you breathe against his lips. "I want more."
Joe's mouth leaves yours, trailing down your chin, your throat, the hollow between your collarbones. You arch into him, your hands roaming his back, feeling the muscle shift under his warm skin. His lips find your breast again, and this time there's no teasing - he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucks hard, and you cry out, your hips bucking off the mattress. His hand moves to your other breast, thumb rubbing circles around the peak, and the dual sensation sends a bolt of heat straight to your core.
You're aware of your own sounds now - the gasps, the moans, the way his name keeps falling from your lips like a prayer. You don't care. The camera's red light is a distant star, irrelevant, invisible. All that exists is the wet heat of his mouth, the scrape of his stubble on your sensitive skin, the way his hand slides lower, palm flat against your stomach, fingers dipping into space between her legs.
You hold your breath. His fingers find you, one slow, deliberate stroke through your slick folds, and you shudder, your hands gripping his shoulders. "God, you're wet," he murmurs against your skin, and the words are thick with want, almost reverent. He does it again, slower, watching your face, and you let your head fall back, your lips parted, your eyes half-closed.
"Don't stop," you whisper. "Please."
He doesn't. His finger circles your clit, light and teasing, and you gasp, your hips chasing his hand. He chuckles low in his throat, a sound that's part amusement, part hunger. "You're so responsive," he says, his voice rough. "I love how you move for me."
You want to say something clever, something that matches his teasing, but his finger presses harder, more insistent, and the thought dissolves into a moan. He works you slowly, deliberately, watching every reaction - the way your stomach tenses, the way your fingers dig into his shoulders, the way your breath catches when he finds the exact right rhythm.
The pressure builds, warm and electric, coiling low in your belly. You feel the edge approaching, a wave about to break, and you grip his hair, pulling his mouth back to yours. You kiss him hard, desperate, your tongue sliding against his, and you feel his finger slide inside you, one slow inch, then two, curling just so. You break the kiss with a gasp, your forehead pressed against his.
"I'm close," you breathe. "Joe, I'm-"
"I know." His voice is a low rasp against your lips. His thumb finds your clit again, pressing in tight circles while his fingers move inside you, and you're floating, falling, the wave cresting and crashing, your body shaking against his hand. You cry out, his name breaking from your lips, and he holds you through it, his forehead still pressed to yours, his breath warm and uneven.
You come back to yourself slowly, the room swimming back into focus - the lamp light, the rumpled sheets, the weight of him above you. His hand is still between your legs, gentle now, stroking you through the aftershocks. You feel the slickness on his fingers, the evidence of how much you wanted this, and the flush rises to your cheeks.
"You okay?" he asks, his voice soft. There's no teasing in it now - just care, just him checking, the way he always does.
You nod, not trusting your voice yet. Your hand finds his, lacing your fingers through his, and you squeeze. He squeezes back.
Then Joe pulls his hand away, slow, and you watch him bring his fingers to his mouth. He licks them clean, one by one, his eyes never leaving yours. The gesture is possessive, primal, and you feel a fresh wave of heat pool between your legs.
"Your turn," you say, and your voice is steadier now, threaded with something darker. You push at his chest, a firm shove, and he rolls onto his back, letting you take control. You straddle his hips, looking down at him, his curls spread across the pillow, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths.
You trace a line down his sternum with your fingertip, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. His hands find your thighs, gripping, thumbs stroking circles on the inside of your knees. "What do you want?" he asks, his voice strained.
You don't answer with words. You lean down, your hair falling forward, brushing his chest, his stomach, as you move lower. You kiss his collarbone, his sternum, the trail of hair leading down his belly. He sucks in a breath when your lips reach the waistband of his jeans, and you feel his cock hard against your cheek through the denim.
Your hands find his button, his zipper, working them open with practised ease. He lifts his hips, and you pull his jeans and underwear down his thighs, past his knees, until they're lost in the sheets. You take a moment to look - his cock, hard and flushed, curving against his stomach, a bead of moisture at the tip.
You wrap your hand around him, slow, and he hisses through his teeth. His hips buck involuntarily, and you feel a surge of power, of control. You stroke him once, twice, watching his face - the way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes flutter shut.
"Look at me," you say, your voice soft but commanding. His eyes open, dark and heavy-lidded, and you hold his gaze as you lean down and take him into your mouth.
His groan is low, guttural, and his hand finds your hair, not pulling, just resting there, grounding himself. You move slowly, deliberately, taking him deep, feeling the pulse of him against your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, and his hips thrust up, a small, helpless movement. You hum around him, and he curses under his breath.
You work him with your mouth and hand, alternating rhythm, watching the way his expressions shift - the furrow of his brow, the way his lips part, the flutter of his eyelids. You love this, love the power of it, love the way you can undo him with nothing but your mouth.
"Fuck," he breathes, his voice ragged. "You're going to make me-"
You pull off, just before the edge, and he lets out a frustrated groan. You crawl up his body, your mouth finding his, and you taste yourself on his lips. "Not yet," you whisper. "I want you inside me."
His hands grip your hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh. "Where?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a growl. "Where do you want me first?"
His hand slides down your body, palm flat against your stomach, fingers splayed wide, warm and heavy. The question hangs in the air, the only sound your ragged breathing, the distant hum of the city, the small red light of the camera, still blinking, still watching.
The word where doesn't fall away. It settles into the air between you, a third presence in the room now, alongside the camera. You feel it in your lungs, in the space where your next breath is waiting.
The red light blinks once. Steady. Patient. You've forgotten its exact location, know it only as a warmth at the edge of your vision, a witness that's no longer watching - just holding.
Joe's palm stays on your stomach. The heat of it seeps into your skin, spreads through you like honey through warm milk. You feel your own pulse beating against his fingers, a small, frantic bird trapped beneath your ribs.
You could say something. You could guide his hand lower, show him the answer instead of speaking it. But the question has weight, and you want to feel it a moment longer - want to let it sit in the space between you, gathering meaning.
His thumb moves. A single stroke across your skin, just below your navel. He's not rushing you. He never rushes you. Even now, with his cock hard against your thigh, with the evidence of your wanting still slick on his fingers, he waits.
The clock on the nightstand ticks. A train horn sounds in the distance, muffled by walls and windows and the heavy summer air. The sheets are tangled around your ankles, one corner hanging off the edge of the bed.
You shift beneath his hand. Your thighs press together, a reflexive clench, and you feel the wetness between them, the ache that hasn't stopped building since he first looked at you through the camera lens.
"Anywhere," you say, and your voice is a rasp, a confession. "Everywhere. I don't care. Just-" You break off, your hand finding his wrist, pressing his palm harder into your stomach. "Just fill me."
His breath catches. You feel it, the hitch of his ribs beneath your other hand. His eyes search yours, and you see the hunger there, barely leashed, waiting for your permission.
"You sure?" he asks, and it's not doubt - it's the final check, the last door before you fall through together.
You answer by pulling his mouth to yours. The kiss is deep, slow, a promise sealed with tongue and teeth and the soft sound you make when his hips press forward, his cock sliding along your wetness, finding home.
He breaks the kiss, just an inch, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, the gold flecks swallowed by pupil. "Tell me," he breathes. "Tell me where."
Your hand slips between you. You wrap your fingers around him, guiding the head to your entrance, holding him there. The pressure is maddening - the barest tip of him pressing against you, not entering, just promising.
"Right here," you whisper. You feel the word vibrate through your chest, through the air, through the point where you almost touch. "I want you right here."
You hold his gaze as you rock your hips forward, taking the head of him inside you. Just the head. Just enough to feel the stretch, the burn, the impossible fullness that's already building. You pause there, letting the sensation wash over you, letting him feel you clench around him.
Joe's exhale is a shudder, a prayer. His eyes flutter shut, then open, finding yours again. "Fuck," he breathes. "You feel-" He doesn't finish. Can't.
You know. You feel it too. The way he fits inside you, the way your body opens for him, the way the world narrows to the point where you're joined and the small, steady red light that's keeping watch.
You pull him deeper with your next breath. A slow, deliberate roll of your hips, and he slides in, inch by inch, until he's buried inside you. The fullness is a shock, a relief, a homecoming.
You stay like that for a moment. Connected. Still. The only sound is your breathing, ragged and synchronised, and the distant hum of a city that has no idea you both exist here.
"There," you say, your voice soft, almost lost against his lips. "Right there. That's where."
He moves inside you, slow and deep, and the world narrows to the point where you're joined - the slick heat of you, the way your body opens around him, the small, breathless sounds you make with each thrust. His hands find your hips, guiding, grounding, and you let yourself be moved, let yourself sink into the rhythm you're building together. The bed frame creaks beneath you, a soft, steady counterpoint to your breathing. The lamp light flickers - a bulb deciding whether to hold or falter - and settles back into its low glow.
His forehead presses against yours. His breath is warm and uneven, ghosting across your lips. You can taste yourself on him, faint and salty, and the intimacy of it makes your chest tighten. His thrusts are measured, deliberate, each one a question you answer with the roll of your hips.
You're aware of the camera, but distantly - a point of heat at the edge of your vision, like a stove burner left on in another room. You've been ignoring it, letting it fade the way he told you to. But now, with him moving inside you, with the wet sound of your bodies meeting filling the small space between breaths, you feel a pull toward it. A curiosity. A dare.
Your hand finds his chest, palm flat against his sternum, feeling the rapid thunder of his heartbeat. You push gently, and he understands, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, the gold flecks nearly swallowed. His curls hang forward, brushing your forehead.
"What?" he asks, his voice rough, barely a whisper.
You don't answer. Not with words. You hold his gaze as you turn your head, slow, deliberate, until your eyes find the phone on the dresser.
The red light is steady. Unblinking. Watching.
You feel the shift in the room - the way the air thickens, the way your pulse quickens. The camera has been there the whole time, but this is different. You're looking at it now. You're choosing it.
Your lips part. You feel his cock inside you, still, waiting. You feel the heat rising from your chest, the flush spreading across your skin. You hold the camera's gaze - the tiny, unblinking red eye - and you speak.
"Joe."
His name. Just his name. But the way you say it is different - slower, heavier, weighted with something you've never quite put into words. You say it like you're showing the camera exactly who you're with, exactly what you want, exactly how far you're willing to fall.
You turn your head back to him, your eyes finding his. The room has gone still. The only movement is the rise and fall of your chests, the slight tremor in his arms where they bracket your body.
His face has changed. The hunger is still there, but underneath it something else has surfaced - a rawness, a vulnerability, the same thing you feel blooming in your own chest. He's seen you look at the camera. He's heard you say his name that way. And he knows what it means.
"Say it again," he breathes, and his voice is broken, a plea dressed as a request.
You turn your head back to the lens. The red light catches your eye, holds you, and you let yourself be held.
"Joe," you say, and this time your voice is steadier, surer. You say it like a confession, like a promise, like a secret you're finally ready to share. You say it like you want the camera to know his name, to remember it, to carry it through the miles that are coming.
His hips press forward, a sharp, involuntary thrust, and you gasp, your hand gripping his shoulder. He's watching you, his eyes dark and intense, and you watch him watch you as you turn your head back to the lens.
You don't break the gaze this time. You hold it, steady, as he moves inside you. His rhythm is faster now, harder, driven by something that's shifted between you. You feel the change in your own body - the way you open wider, the way your hips meet his, the way the camera's red light becomes a third heartbeat in the room.
"I want you to watch this later," you say, and your voice is low, rough, meant for the lens. "I want you to see what you do to me."
His groan is guttural, broken. His hand finds your jaw, turning your face back to him, and he kisses you hard, desperate, his tongue sliding against yours. You taste the salt of his skin, the edge of his want, and you sink into the kiss, letting it carry you.
When he breaks away, his forehead is pressed to yours, his breath ragged. "Look at it again," he says, and it's not a request. "Look at the camera and tell me what you want."
You do. You turn your head, find the red light, hold it like a staring contest. Your hand slides down between you both, your fingers finding where you're joined, feeling the slick heat of him moving inside you.
You feel yourself in the frame. Not just your body - you, the whole of you, the wanting and the being wanted, the choice you keep making with every breath. Your fingers trace the slick ring where you meet, spreading the wetness across your own skin, and you watch yourself do it through the camera's eye. The gesture is for you as much as for it - proof that this is real, that you're here, that you want this enough to mark yourself with the evidence.
His pace falters. You feel the hitch in his rhythm, the way his hips stutter as he watches you watch yourself. His hand covers yours, pressing your fingers harder against yourself, and you gasp at the pressure - your own touch amplified by his, your fingers caught between your body and his, feeling him move through your hand.
"Like that," he breathes, and his voice is wrecked. "Keep your hand there."
You don't look away from the lens. Your fingers press, circle, find the spot where you need him most, and you let the camera see exactly how you touch yourself, exactly how you want to be touched. The red light blinks - once, twice - and you imagine him watching this later, alone in a hotel room, his hand moving in the same rhythm as yours. The thought sends a pulse of heat through you, a fresh wave of wetness that you feel against your fingers.
His thrusts are deeper now, harder, driven by something that's shifted between you. The camera has become a third participant, a silent witness that amplifies every touch, every sound, every shared breath. You feel the performance of it - not fake, not forced, but heightened, sharpened by the knowledge that this moment will outlast the night.
"Tell me what you see," he says, his voice low and rough against your ear. His hand stays over yours, guiding your fingers where he knows you need them. "Tell me what the camera sees."
You hold the red light in your gaze. Your lips part. Your body opens around him, a slow, deliberate clench that makes him groan.
"I see me." Your voice is steady, threaded with something raw and honest. "I see me taking you. I see how wet I am for you, how wide I open, how much I need this." You pause, your fingers pressing harder against yourself as he thrusts deeper. "I see me falling apart."
His hand leaves yours, sliding up your stomach, your ribs, until his palm cups your breast. His thumb finds your nipple, rolling it between his fingers, and you arch into the touch, your breath catching. He keeps moving inside you, steady and deep, and you keep your eyes on the lens, letting the camera see every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face.
"Look at you," he murmurs, and his voice is thick with awe. "Look at what you're doing to me."
You feel him pulse inside you, feel the tremor that runs through his thighs, and you know he's close. But you're not ready for this to end. Not yet. Not when the camera is still watching, still holding every second of you together.
You pull your hand out from between you both, bring your fingers to your mouth. You taste yourself on your tongue - salt and want and the faint musk of him - and you hold the camera's eye as you lick your fingers clean, slow and deliberate, one by one.
Joe makes a sound you've never heard from him before. Something broken and reverent, a word that might be your name but comes out as a groan. His hips lose their rhythm, his composure cracking, and you feel the shift - the moment when he stops trying to last and starts letting go.
"Joe." You say his name to the camera, your voice a command and a plea. "Look at me. Look at the camera and let it see you come."
His eyes find the lens. You watch his face as he looks at it - the way his jaw tightens, the way his pupils blow wide, the way his breath catches and holds. You watch him give himself to the camera the way you did, offering up his pleasure as proof that this is real.
He comes with a shudder, his hips pressing deep, his forehead falling to your shoulder. You feel the pulse of him inside you, hot and filling, and come right after him. You hold him through it, your hand finding his hair, your eyes still on the red light. You want the camera to see this too - the way he collapses against you, the way his breath evens out, the way you hold him through the aftershocks.
The room settles. The only sounds are your breathing, the faint hum of the city, the small, steady presence of the camera still recording.
He lifts his head, his eyes finding yours. There's something new in his gaze - a tenderness that wasn't there before, or maybe it was, maybe it's just visible now, through the lens of what you've done.
"Hi," he says, soft, the way he said it at the start.
"Hi."
He kisses you, slow and gentle, a kiss that tastes like salt and want and the beginning of something you're not ready to name. When he pulls back, his thumb traces your cheek, brushing away a strand of hair that's stuck to your skin.
"I'm going to watch that a hundred times," he says, and his voice is rough with honesty. "A thousand. Every night I'm gone."
You smile, small and private, your hand still tangled in his curls. "Good."
You turn your head back to the camera. The red light is steady, patient, still holding you both in its gaze. You look at it for a long moment - at the future version of him who will watch this, at the miles that will stretch between you, at the proof of this night that will carry through all of it.
You speak to it, your voice low and sure. "I'll be waiting."
The red light blinks once. Steady. Patient. A promise held in light and glass and the space between two people who refuse to let distance win.
Summary: Steve is spending the day at Dustin's, and his situation with you is questioned by the little guy.
Word count: 1.7k
Warnings: Dustin and Steve being themselves, loverboy!Steve, annoying!Dustin, insecure!Steve
Note: Hey! Throughout the writing of the story, I noticed that I have written almost no interaction between Steve and Dustin. Most of this fanfic is focused on the older teens and their relationship, but I didn't want the kids to be left out, so here it is the most Steve-Dustin interaction I could do. Hope you like it, because it was really funny doing this one!
AO3 link | Wattpad link | serie's masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
Sunday, February 9th, 1985
Steve is lying down on Dustin’s bed, throwing up and down a magic cube while Dustin is at his desk doing some homework, a school project, or some personal scientific thing. His nerdy stuff, mostly.
After a while, Steve gets bored. He sits straight on the bed, putting the cube away. He looks at Dustin doing his stuff, concentrated, then at his room. Steve stands up out of curiosity and starts to fish around Dustin’s stuff, drawers, and shelves. He flips through some X-Men comic books on a shelf, looks at some of the posters on his walls, searches through his drawers, and finds a lot of science-themed shirts.
He also spies on Yurtle in his cage, searching for the little buddy. He bends over himself, hands on his knees while looking inside the cage, calling him by his name. After a second, Dustin stops what he is doing and finds Steve there, letting the cage behind and returning to his personal journey. Dustin watches him snooping through his stuff for a while, leaning back in his chair.
“Looking for something specific, Steven?”
“Jesus Christ, Henderson!” Steve startles, putting a hand over his chest, panting from the scare, his other hand at the table of the turtle’s cage. He looks at Dustin while trying to slow down his heart, a little pale from the scare. “Weren’t you doing your thing there?” he points vaguely in his direction, referring to his table.
“Yeah, you are right; I was," Dustin punctuates, "Now I’m more interested in knowing what you are looking for through my stuff,” he adds, crossing his arms over his chest, looking unbothered at Steve.
“I’m just bored!" Steve exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air, "Nothing special, Henderson.” Steve walks back to the bed again, groaning in boredom. He lets himself fall onto his back at the bed and lies down with his legs outside the bed, touching the floor, looking at the ceiling.
“Tell me about your love life then. It always fascinated me how you always ended up being ditched,” Dustin teases, his little pearls showing.
Steve sits still again, deadly staring at him. He is slightly pissed, pointing a finger towards Dustin. “First of all, I am the one who ditches.” Dustin looks at him, unimpressed. “And secondly, I ditch because I end up not liking the person, okay?” Steve makes a mocking, annoyed face, which only makes Dustin laugh his ass off.
Steve looks at the kid like he personally offended him, and let's be fair, that's what happened. “You don’t respect me enough, you know that, Henderson?" he starts, pointing a finger vaguely to him, "I’m sure your mom taught you better than that.” Steve rolls his eyes, his face in great annoyance as he watches Dustin laugh for a few more seconds until he slowly stops, wiping his tears. “Are you done already? Or do you need more time?” Steve asks, annoyed.
“No, I'm okay. Thanks for the consideration,” Dustin takes a deep breath, stopping the laugh for good, but not before Steve sighs in annoyance. Wiping invisible tears, he turns his attention back to Steve. “You still didn't tell me about your love life.”
Steve rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair, annoyed still and already. “What about it, Henderson? What do you want to know?”
Dustin starts wth your name, asking just after, “Have you already kissed her?”
“Jesus Christ, Henderson!” Steve chokes on air, his eyes widening in shock while he gets red. “What the fuck are you talking about, man?” his tone is a pitch high.
Dustin looks at him, as annoyed as Steve was before. “I’m not blind, Steve, nor deaf.”
“And what's that supposed to mean?” he says back, with fake incredulity, like it would be the weirdest assumption in the world, which he knows it isn’t.
“I can be in Middle School, but I see the way you act around her, okay?” Dustin spins his chair while talking. “When she is around, you kind of gravitate around her, dunno,” he shrugs, “you seem to like to be around her.”
“Yeah, because she is a good friend!” Steve states as nonchalantly and unbothered as possible, failing miserably as he blushes and his voice rises another pitch, extending his arms in front of him in defense, clearly nervous.
Dustin stops spinning and gives him a death glare, really annoyed. “Are you really going to tell me she is just a good friend?”
“Because she is!”
“If she is just a friend, as you are saying,” Dustin points to Steve accusingly. “So why did you almost kiss her that day after the game?”
Steve's eyes widen, pressing his hands to his face, bending over his legs, groaning in frustration. “I’m gonna kill Sinclair,” he exclaims in a muffled confession.
Dustin seems really confused, furrowing his eyebrows together. “What does Lucas have to do with any of this?”
Steve freezes mid-groan, then takes his hands off his face and looks up at Dustin, desperation spreading over his face. Dustin’s eyes widen in full surprise and realization, pointing a finger at his friend and getting up from the chair in excitement with a wide grin on his face, “You almost kissed her more than once!”
Steve's face is burning with embarrassment, and the redness is spreading. He grabs a pillow from the bed, pressing it to his face. He throws himself back on the bed, screaming against the pillow to muffle his drama.
Dustin laughs, jumping on top of Steve and shaking his body with excitement by his arms, “I knew you liked her!”
Steve gives up, sitting in the bed, grabbing Dustin and pulling him to sit in the bed as well. Steve leans back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. Dustin is still smiling widely at him by his side. “How could you not kiss her yet, dude?”
Steve rolls his eyes, still looking up at the ceiling. “There is always someone interrupting; that's unbelievable!” he turns to look at Dustin, “If it’s not Sinclair, which day are you talking about then? I swear it must not be Wheeler or I’ll kick his ass for that big mouth of his.”
“For Christ's sake, Steven, how many times have you tried to kiss her after a game and failed?”
Steve groans in frustration, looking up at the ceiling again. “I should just shut up and let you talk.”
Dustin laughs at his frustration before talking again, “The first game she shot your team, two games before the recess.”
Steve looks incredulous, confused at Dustin. “How do you kno-” he groans, realizing, rolling his eyes with such annoyance, “It was Mayfield junior, wasn't it?”
“She will beat your ass if she hears you call her that.” Dustin cackles.
“Are you going to snitch me now, too, Henderson?” he groans in frustration, shutting his eyes and facing up the ceiling again. “What did she say?”
“She said she interrupted you two when you were dropping her sister at home, and that you were really close to each other.” Dustin starts to giggle.
“Oh no shit we were close, Hendenson, no shit.” Steve sighs loudly, falling into the bed again, screaming against the pillow.
“Why don’t you just ask her on a date? I’m sure she is going to say yes.”
Steve stays silent for a while. After a second longer, he turns his stomach up, looking at the ceiling again, still lying in the bed. “I’m afraid,” he confesses nervously, quietly “I’m afraid I’ll be boring... Annoying...”
Dustin looks at him, intrigued. “You were never worried about it before,” he states.
“I know!” Steve sits up, looking at Dustin, defeated by his own insecurities. “It’s just…” he takes a deep breath and exhales heavily, leaning against the wall again. “I don’t want to mess this up, you know?” he runs a hand through his hair, making it messy, unusual to him.
“Every time we are together, even if it is with friends, in class, playing something, watching something, doing anything, it's always so joyful, you know?” he exhales heavily. “And we didn't even kiss yet!” Steve looks at Dustin with frustration. “I want our first kiss to be perfect, and I really don’t want it to be planned, like on a date or something, where there is an expectation for this to happen.” he rubs the back of his neck, looking away.
“I want to... Dunno..." he thinks for a while, looking away, a quiet smile spreading on his face while he speaks agian, "to kiss her when I’m writing some of my shit in her bed while she is writing something by my side," he starts to sound dreamily, a grin showing now, "or when we are playing something together at Hopper’s, some sport or videogame, and we are laughing so hard that our bodies are shaking and thrown at each other, or when we are talking to each other on her locker and we get closer to without noticing, or when-”
Dustin smiles, cutting Steve off, teasing him a little. “Didn't know you could be like that; it is… new. Loverboy Steve,” he cackles from his own not-so-much joke.
Steve nods to himself, looking at his hands, processing his words, smiling shyly now, blushing even. “Yeah, think you are right… As I said, I didn't feel it with the other girls, but with her…” he chuckles shyly, playing with his hands on his lap, drifting away and thinking about you.
“You didn't even kiss her yet, and you are already wrapped around her finger.” Dustin teases playfully, nudging Steve’s ribs with his elbow.
Steve chuckles, agreeing. “We can’t deny it, can we?” he rubs the back of his neck, then looks back at Dustin. “I made something and also bought something for her for Valentine’s Day,” he blushes.
Dustin widens his eyes in excitement, smiling widely. “What are they?”
“The one I bought, I don’t know if it worked out. I asked Robin to buy it for me. I’ll meet her later, and if it works out, I’ll give you a call.” Dustin gives Steve a thumbs-up, making him chuckle. “And the one I made is a tape with her favorite songs.” he smiles shyly but is really proud of him as well.
“She is gonna love it, dude.” Dustin pats his shoulder, happy for him.
“She will, won’t she?” Steve looks at Dustin, smiling proudly at all his effort, and already excited to give you the gifts next week.
Note: Hey! I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I really love Steve and Dustin's relationship, so writing about them makes me feel so happy. Steve being insecure makes sense to me because the feeling of being wanted in any way is still foreign to him. He has a family, a proper one at least, for a couple os years only, and good friends as well. So making a move as a date with someone he likes that much, like he likes reader, makes me believe he would be really insecure about messing up and delaying this date.
AO3 link | Wattpad link | serie's masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
Summary: Steve is spending the day at Dustin's, and his situation with you is questioned by the little guy.
Word count: 1.7k
Warnings: Dustin and Steve being themselves, loverboy!Steve, annoying!Dustin, insecure!Steve
Note: Hey! Throughout the writing of the story, I noticed that I have written almost no interaction between Steve and Dustin. Most of this fanfic is focused on the older teens and their relationship, but I didn't want the kids to be left out, so here it is the most Steve-Dustin interaction I could do. Hope you like it, because it was really funny doing this one!
AO3 link | Wattpad link | serie's masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
Sunday, February 9th, 1985
Steve is lying down on Dustin’s bed, throwing up and down a magic cube while Dustin is at his desk doing some homework, a school project, or some personal scientific thing. His nerdy stuff, mostly.
After a while, Steve gets bored. He sits straight on the bed, putting the cube away. He looks at Dustin doing his stuff, concentrated, then at his room. Steve stands up out of curiosity and starts to fish around Dustin’s stuff, drawers, and shelves. He flips through some X-Men comic books on a shelf, looks at some of the posters on his walls, searches through his drawers, and finds a lot of science-themed shirts.
He also spies on Yurtle in his cage, searching for the little buddy. He bends over himself, hands on his knees while looking inside the cage, calling him by his name. After a second, Dustin stops what he is doing and finds Steve there, letting the cage behind and returning to his personal journey. Dustin watches him snooping through his stuff for a while, leaning back in his chair.
“Looking for something specific, Steven?”
“Jesus Christ, Henderson!” Steve startles, putting a hand over his chest, panting from the scare, his other hand at the table of the turtle’s cage. He looks at Dustin while trying to slow down his heart, a little pale from the scare. “Weren’t you doing your thing there?” he points vaguely in his direction, referring to his table.
“Yeah, you are right; I was," Dustin punctuates, "Now I’m more interested in knowing what you are looking for through my stuff,” he adds, crossing his arms over his chest, looking unbothered at Steve.
“I’m just bored!" Steve exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air, "Nothing special, Henderson.” Steve walks back to the bed again, groaning in boredom. He lets himself fall onto his back at the bed and lies down with his legs outside the bed, touching the floor, looking at the ceiling.
“Tell me about your love life then. It always fascinated me how you always ended up being ditched,” Dustin teases, his little pearls showing.
Steve sits still again, deadly staring at him. He is slightly pissed, pointing a finger towards Dustin. “First of all, I am the one who ditches.” Dustin looks at him, unimpressed. “And secondly, I ditch because I end up not liking the person, okay?” Steve makes a mocking, annoyed face, which only makes Dustin laugh his ass off.
Steve looks at the kid like he personally offended him, and let's be fair, that's what happened. “You don’t respect me enough, you know that, Henderson?" he starts, pointing a finger vaguely to him, "I’m sure your mom taught you better than that.” Steve rolls his eyes, his face in great annoyance as he watches Dustin laugh for a few more seconds until he slowly stops, wiping his tears. “Are you done already? Or do you need more time?” Steve asks, annoyed.
“No, I'm okay. Thanks for the consideration,” Dustin takes a deep breath, stopping the laugh for good, but not before Steve sighs in annoyance. Wiping invisible tears, he turns his attention back to Steve. “You still didn't tell me about your love life.”
Steve rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair, annoyed still and already. “What about it, Henderson? What do you want to know?”
Dustin starts wth your name, asking just after, “Have you already kissed her?”
“Jesus Christ, Henderson!” Steve chokes on air, his eyes widening in shock while he gets red. “What the fuck are you talking about, man?” his tone is a pitch high.
Dustin looks at him, as annoyed as Steve was before. “I’m not blind, Steve, nor deaf.”
“And what's that supposed to mean?” he says back, with fake incredulity, like it would be the weirdest assumption in the world, which he knows it isn’t.
“I can be in Middle School, but I see the way you act around her, okay?” Dustin spins his chair while talking. “When she is around, you kind of gravitate around her, dunno,” he shrugs, “you seem to like to be around her.”
“Yeah, because she is a good friend!” Steve states as nonchalantly and unbothered as possible, failing miserably as he blushes and his voice rises another pitch, extending his arms in front of him in defense, clearly nervous.
Dustin stops spinning and gives him a death glare, really annoyed. “Are you really going to tell me she is just a good friend?”
“Because she is!”
“If she is just a friend, as you are saying,” Dustin points to Steve accusingly. “So why did you almost kiss her that day after the game?”
Steve's eyes widen, pressing his hands to his face, bending over his legs, groaning in frustration. “I’m gonna kill Sinclair,” he exclaims in a muffled confession.
Dustin seems really confused, furrowing his eyebrows together. “What does Lucas have to do with any of this?”
Steve freezes mid-groan, then takes his hands off his face and looks up at Dustin, desperation spreading over his face. Dustin’s eyes widen in full surprise and realization, pointing a finger at his friend and getting up from the chair in excitement with a wide grin on his face, “You almost kissed her more than once!”
Steve's face is burning with embarrassment, and the redness is spreading. He grabs a pillow from the bed, pressing it to his face. He throws himself back on the bed, screaming against the pillow to muffle his drama.
Dustin laughs, jumping on top of Steve and shaking his body with excitement by his arms, “I knew you liked her!”
Steve gives up, sitting in the bed, grabbing Dustin and pulling him to sit in the bed as well. Steve leans back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. Dustin is still smiling widely at him by his side. “How could you not kiss her yet, dude?”
Steve rolls his eyes, still looking up at the ceiling. “There is always someone interrupting; that's unbelievable!” he turns to look at Dustin, “If it’s not Sinclair, which day are you talking about then? I swear it must not be Wheeler or I’ll kick his ass for that big mouth of his.”
“For Christ's sake, Steven, how many times have you tried to kiss her after a game and failed?”
Steve groans in frustration, looking up at the ceiling again. “I should just shut up and let you talk.”
Dustin laughs at his frustration before talking again, “The first game she shot your team, two games before the recess.”
Steve looks incredulous, confused at Dustin. “How do you kno-” he groans, realizing, rolling his eyes with such annoyance, “It was Mayfield junior, wasn't it?”
“She will beat your ass if she hears you call her that.” Dustin cackles.
“Are you going to snitch me now, too, Henderson?” he groans in frustration, shutting his eyes and facing up the ceiling again. “What did she say?”
“She said she interrupted you two when you were dropping her sister at home, and that you were really close to each other.” Dustin starts to giggle.
“Oh no shit we were close, Hendenson, no shit.” Steve sighs loudly, falling into the bed again, screaming against the pillow.
“Why don’t you just ask her on a date? I’m sure she is going to say yes.”
Steve stays silent for a while. After a second longer, he turns his stomach up, looking at the ceiling again, still lying in the bed. “I’m afraid,” he confesses nervously, quietly “I’m afraid I’ll be boring... Annoying...”
Dustin looks at him, intrigued. “You were never worried about it before,” he states.
“I know!” Steve sits up, looking at Dustin, defeated by his own insecurities. “It’s just…” he takes a deep breath and exhales heavily, leaning against the wall again. “I don’t want to mess this up, you know?” he runs a hand through his hair, making it messy, unusual to him.
“Every time we are together, even if it is with friends, in class, playing something, watching something, doing anything, it's always so joyful, you know?” he exhales heavily. “And we didn't even kiss yet!” Steve looks at Dustin with frustration. “I want our first kiss to be perfect, and I really don’t want it to be planned, like on a date or something, where there is an expectation for this to happen.” he rubs the back of his neck, looking away.
“I want to... Dunno..." he thinks for a while, looking away, a quiet smile spreading on his face while he speaks agian, "to kiss her when I’m writing some of my shit in her bed while she is writing something by my side," he starts to sound dreamily, a grin showing now, "or when we are playing something together at Hopper’s, some sport or videogame, and we are laughing so hard that our bodies are shaking and thrown at each other, or when we are talking to each other on her locker and we get closer to without noticing, or when-”
Dustin smiles, cutting Steve off, teasing him a little. “Didn't know you could be like that; it is… new. Loverboy Steve,” he cackles from his own not-so-much joke.
Steve nods to himself, looking at his hands, processing his words, smiling shyly now, blushing even. “Yeah, think you are right… As I said, I didn't feel it with the other girls, but with her…” he chuckles shyly, playing with his hands on his lap, drifting away and thinking about you.
“You didn't even kiss her yet, and you are already wrapped around her finger.” Dustin teases playfully, nudging Steve’s ribs with his elbow.
Steve chuckles, agreeing. “We can’t deny it, can we?” he rubs the back of his neck, then looks back at Dustin. “I made something and also bought something for her for Valentine’s Day,” he blushes.
Dustin widens his eyes in excitement, smiling widely. “What are they?”
“The one I bought, I don’t know if it worked out. I asked Robin to buy it for me. I’ll meet her later, and if it works out, I’ll give you a call.” Dustin gives Steve a thumbs-up, making him chuckle. “And the one I made is a tape with her favorite songs.” he smiles shyly but is really proud of him as well.
“She is gonna love it, dude.” Dustin pats his shoulder, happy for him.
“She will, won’t she?” Steve looks at Dustin, smiling proudly at all his effort, and already excited to give you the gifts next week.
Note: Hey! I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I really love Steve and Dustin's relationship, so writing about them makes me feel so happy. Steve being insecure makes sense to me because the feeling of being wanted in any way is still foreign to him. He has a family, a proper one at least, for a couple os years only, and good friends as well. So making a move as a date with someone he likes that much, like he likes reader, makes me believe he would be really insecure about messing up and delaying this date.
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