#djo blurb

[keeryhours]

lonely on tour

modern!rockstar!steve harrington (totally not djo def not👀) x instagram baddie!fem!reader ; 1k words

masterlist

i can’t explain this yall it just happened enjoy some short filth inspired by my djame impala excitement and love for djo

modern!rockstar!steve, who gets lonely on tour.

his hand is a poor imitation for the real thing. he steals moments alone on the tour bus, and it gets the job done, but he craves more. especially when he finds your instagram, and it becomes his favorite thing to jerk off to.

pictures of you in a bikini on the beach—the third photo is his favorite, because you were there with all your friends but in that one you’re standing alone, perfect ass on display. the ones from your last birthday party, where you were in that club wearing that tight dress that left just enough to his (depraved) imagination.

it always made him cum embarrassingly fast. god, it had been a while.

so when the tour brought him to los angeles, where he knew you lived, how could he not shoot his shot? he half expected you to ignore him. you had millions more followers than he did—not that he cared about that—and he knew your dms had to be full of men begging for a chance.

when your response came up on his screen during sound check, his heart stopped.

before he knew it, he was performing, his eyes darting to the side of the stage more times than he intended just to see your reactions as you watched him. the clips and speculation would go wild online later—who was he looking at? who was there?—but that didn’t matter to him 

“fuck, look at you,” steve rasped when he had you spread out on the bed in his hotel suite after the show, bare and perfect and better than anything he’d dreamed of alone with his throbbing cock in his hand.

you smiled up at him, so pretty and too sweet for what he was about to do to you. his cock was rock hard, dripping with precum already as he pressed against your cunt, so soaked for him, just for him. when you’d told him you were on birth control and he could fuck you raw, he’d nearly cum on the spot.

he grabbed your thighs with those big hands you’d been watching all night, and pushed them up against your body, spreading you wide for him. the groan he let out at the sight was pornographic, making you clench around nothing. you wanted him inside you now—you’d heard the rumors, and they were true. steve was huge.

he nudged his thick tip at your hole, where you were so desperate for him, and then—

“oh, fuck,” he nearly whimpered as he sunk into you, inch by thick inch. he hadn’t realized how badly he needed the real thing until he was burying his cock into your perfect cunt. tight, wet, hot, and squeezing him so perfectly he wasn’t sure how long he’d last. but he was not going to embarrass himself now.

“god, steve,” you whined, writhing under him as you adjusted to the way he stretched you out. he only gave you a second before he was pulling back, then fucking into you like he couldn’t stand not to for another second. you gasped and moaned and cried out for him, your sounds making his hips buck uncontrollably, taking you harder.

“i—holy shit,” steve groaned, hips rutting against you so hard the bed was shaking against the wall. the heat in his gaze as he looked down at you nearly took your breath away, his cheeks flushed, messy hair stuck to his forehead. his fingers tightened against your thighs when he looked down, watching himself sink into you over and over. “jesus fuck. your pussy—oh—god, you’re so good, baby, could fuck you for hours, oh fuck yeah squeeze me like that again—“

he fucked you like a man starved, like he’d been craving this with his whole body for longer than you could even comprehend. he bent over you to capture your lips in a filthy kiss, pressing your legs tighter against you, nearly bending you in half as he licked into your mouth, bit your bottom lip, groaned against you.

you couldn’t even warn him before you came. it hit you when he sat up, adjusting the angle of his hips and using his grip on your body to drag you down against his cock so hard you were seeing stars.

“yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he coaxed breathlessly, his eyes rolling back as he felt you tighten around him, milking his cock for everything he had. “god, yeah, cum for me just like that, so good baby, so good, fuck, fuck—!”

he was so close, right behind you, you could tell. he watched your tits bounce from the force of his thrusts while he used your body to chase his high, the one he’d been craving for so long, and you were gonna give it to him.

“gonna cum in you,” he rambled, his mind going hazy from the pleasure. “gonna give it to you baby, gonna give it all, gonna fill you up so fuckin’ deep—“

he let out a choked moan, his hips losing their rhythm as he lost himself in you. “fuck, yeah, fuck, oh fuck, gonna cum, gonna make me cum, shit—“

it was your name on his lips when his cock jerked inside the tight confines of your perfect cunt, spilling every drop of his cum into you, pulsing deep and filling you just like he’d promised. it was the release he’d needed so badly, like he’d dreamed of, only better. he rode it out until it finally subsided, feeling like he could have come forever.

when he pulled out, he collapsed next to you. his hand resting on your waist as you both came down, neither of you in a rush to put any distance between you, or to get back to your individual hectic lives. there was something sweet about the way he looked at you now, like he couldn’t quite believe it was you here with him now.

“so…” he finally said, after he had the chance to catch his breath. “can i get your number?”

[keerymehome]

Long term relationship with Joe and he is on tour for his birthday and you have to work ( or so he thinks) and won’t be able to visit, but the guys in the band or his family help you surprise him

⌯⌲ Joe Drabbles Masterlist

This is adorable...

Imagine trying to lie to him so you don't ruin the surprise.

The video call connects with its usual soft chime, and there he is finally - Joe, hunched over a hotel desk in Cleveland, hair flattened on one side from his beanie, eyes heavy with that tour exhaustion. He brightens when he sees you, that familiar crooked smile you fell in love with years ago.

"Hey, you."

"Hey yourself." You adjust your laptop slightly, careful to keep your bedroom wall out of frame. The half-packed duffel bag sits just out of sight, stuffed with his favorite snacks and a vintage synthesizer shirt you found at a thrift store. "How was soundcheck?"

He groans, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. Weird without you there. I keep looking for you in the wings."

Your heart pinches. Three years together now, and he's still looks for you in crowds.

"About that," you say carefully, watching his face fall in real-time, sadness welling up behind his eyes before you can even say anything. "I talked to my boss. I tried everything - I really did. But there's no way I can get off for Chicago. That presentation on Thursday, it's - "

"No, no." He shakes his head, forcing a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "It's okay. I get it. We'll celebrate when I'm back."

"Joe - "

"I mean it." He leans closer to the camera, close enough that you can see the small scar above his eyebrow from that time he walked into a tree branch at your parents' house. "You being there every other show? That's already more than I can ask for. One birthday apart won't kill us."

But you know it will wound him. You can see it in the way he glances away, in the slight was his jaw tightens as he fights his own emotions.

"I'll make it up to you," you promise.

"You always do."

He blows you a kiss before disconnecting, and you sit in the sudden silence of your apartment, staring at the black screen. Then you see a text from Liam: "I'm in. Tell me everything."

The plan forms over three days of colluded messages. Liam, bless him, is overly theatrical about the whole thing - "'Course I'll help, he's been moping like a kicked puppy. Last night he played 'End of Beginning' three times and stared at your contact photo after the show" - while Joe's sister Caroline handles the family side, promising to keep him distracted with a fake "surprise" video call party that'll actually buy you time to get there.

You drive six hours to Chicago, hands cramped on the steering wheel, playlist full of Djo songs that make you grin like an idiot. The venue is bigger than you expected, all industrial brick and buzzing backstage energy. Liam meets you at the loading dock, hugging you hard enough to crack your back.

"He's been a nightmare," Liam confides, leading you through concrete corridors. "Snapping at the prompters, forgetting lyrics. Keeps saying 'Y/N would know' like you're his external hard drive for his brain."

"I am his external hard drive."

"Exactly. That's why this'll wreck him - in the good way."

He shows you the supply closet - it's cramped, dusty, smelling of old stains and coffee - then he hands you a walkie-talkie. "Channel four. When you hear me say 'maintenance issue,' that's your cue. Give him thirty seconds to get frustrated, then - " he mimes an explosion, grinning.

You settle in to wait for the queue, duffel bag at your feet, heart doing jumping jacks against your ribs. Through the thin walls, you can hear the show - it's distant, muffled, but unmistakably his. The synth lines vibrate through the floor. You catch yourself mouthing the words to "Gap Tooth Smile," imagining him on stage, sweat-dark hair, that focused intensity he gets when the lights hit.

The set ends. You check your phone: 10:47 PM. The walkie crackles with roadie chatter, then Liam's voice, casual: "Hey Joe, green room's locked. Maintenance. Use the storage closet off the main corridor - two minutes, yeah?"

Footsteps approach. Your hands shake.

The door opens.

Joe steps in, phone already in his hand, shoulders curved with post-show fatigue. He doesn't look up - just mutters "ridiculous" under his breath, thumb hovering over your contact photo.

You don't breathe.

He glances up.

Time stops. You watch it happen in slow motion: the double-take, the widening of his eyes, the way his phone slips in his grip before he frantically catches it. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

"You - " he chokes out. "You said - "

You don't give him time to recover. You launch yourself at him, and he catches you like he's able to breath again, like gravity, arms banding around your waist so tight your ribs protest. His face buries in your neck, inhaling deep - you, your shampoo, your skin, the home he's been missing for three weeks.

"You liar," he mumbles, voice wrecked. "You absolute - " he pulls back, hands framing your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones with trembling reverence taking it all in - "you planned this. How long?"

"Three days of lying to your face." You grin, giddy with relief. "Liam helped. Your sister too. Happy birthday, dummy."

He stares at you like you're a miracle, like you're stage lights, song lyrics and every good thing that's ever happened to him at once. Then he kisses you, and it's not gentle in the slightest - it's hungry, desperate, weeks of absence compressed into this collision. His hands tangle in your hair, your back hits the shelving unit, something metallic clatters to the floor, and neither of you care.

When you finally break apart, he's laughing, breathless, forehead pressed to yours. "I can't believe you did this."

"I can leave if you want."

He tightens his grip. "Don't you dare."

The walkie crackles: "Ahem. We're waiting with terrible cupcakes. Whenever you lovebirds - "

Joe ignores it, kissing you again, slower this time, like he has all the time in the world now. Like you're the only thing that matter's to him right now.

Later, you'll emerge to find the whole band crammed into the green room (which was never locked), holding a grocery store cupcake with one crooked candle, singing off-key. Joe's mom will video call, shrieking when she sees you, and Joe will spend the whole conversation with his arm locked around your waist, touching you constantly - your hip, your shoulder, the small of your back - like he still doesn't quite believe you're real and here still

But for now, in the dusty dark of a supply closet, it's just you two. He whispers "best birthday" against your lips, again and again, a prayer and a promise, while the distant roar of the venue fades to nothing at all.

A/N: my laptop is not liking me at the moment. Kinda rude.

[djolover2929]

maggots for brains

(joe keery x famous singer!reader)

you don’t talk about it in interviews.

when they ask how you handle him being gone half the year on tour with Joe Keery, you smile like it’s simple.

“we’re used to it,” you say. “we make it work.”

like that explains why you forget to eat until late afternoon when he’s gone.

like that explains why your apartment feels too big without his dumb guitar leaning in the corner.

~

it starts small.

missing calls because you fell asleep waiting for his.

staring at your phone like it’s going to grow legs and walk him back to you.

rewriting messages until they don’t sound like you at all, then deleting them anyway.

then it gets worse in ways you don’t really notice until you’re already in it.

you lose track of days.

you walk into rooms and forget why.

you hear a laugh in a crowd and turn around too fast, like your body made the decision before your brain caught up.

someone half-jokes, “girl, you look like you’ve got maggots for brains or something.”

and it sticks.

not because it’s funny.

because it’s too accurate for something you didn’t know how to say out loud.

~

you write the song when he’s on the other side of the world.

no drama. no big moment. just you, the quiet, and a voice memo that keeps looping the same unfinished chorus.

“Everything feels moldy/Like the fruit that's in my fridge/And everything that's funny I wish I could tell to him/And sometimes at a low point I even wish for a tragedy/‘Cause I know he'd come over And take real good care of me It's weird, he's not here”

you don’t try to make it pretty at first.

it’s just honest.

~

he hears it later, after a show, still sweaty, still half in another city.

he doesn’t joke about it.

just listens, phone resting against his palm, expression going still in a way that makes your stomach drop even through the screen.

“you should’ve told me,” he says after a while.

you shrug, because what else are you supposed to do with that kind of honesty.

“i didn’t want to make it your problem.”

he shakes his head a little.

“it already is if it’s happening to you.”

and that’s the part that sits with you.

not the distance.

not the tours.

just the realization that you’d been treating it like something you had to survive alone.

~

when the song comes out, people call it dramatic.

too specific.

too messy.

but late at night, the internet does what it always does, and someone writes:

“this is what it feels like when someone becomes your whole sense of direction.”

you don’t respond.

you just let it exist.

~

joe texts you after a show, somewhere between cities.

“heard it again tonight. still don’t like you going through that alone.”

you stare at it for a second, then finally reply.

“you’re home in a few days.”

a pause.

then:

“yeah. stay up for me?”

A/N: im absolutely obsessed with this song. you don’t get it until you’re in it so never judge.

[rickgrimes-cupid]

DJO would write you a song but not tell you that it was for you, until you were stood in the crowd.... Listening to the words flow out of his mouth, his eyes flickering between you and being closed.

He would sing the words "I love you" through his lyrics, maybe even write you a little message that was a private thing between you both.

You would always travel with him, he would never feel confident without you. His nerves would pile on top of each other until he knew that you were standing in the crowd.

You would be the first person who he would go to about his songs, even if you knew nothing about lyrics. Your reassurance would be the first advice he needed to progress through the songs.

There would very limited models, you would be the most important person in his videos. He would argue and argue that you were the only woman necessary, finally loosing to the fact that they needed "more than your silly little girlfriend" he would walk off in anger until you received an apology.

If you didn't like something, he would ignore everything else. He adored you and took your opinions seriously. He would never kiss anyone but you.

He would record your voice that would be added into his songs, your face through the glass at the recording booth but the only thing that got him through tricky days.

Once referencing your influence that of Jim Morrison and Pamela Courson

He would hum his songs around the house, serenading you with the songs about you. Dancing with you in the kitchen, scratching DJO into your skin during sex.

[keerymehome]

Joe coming home from a longgg tour to nothing but you in a new lingerie set ready for him😼😼

⌯⌲ Joe Drabbles Masterlist

Oh you betcha.

Cause if he thinks he's desperate after having to jerk himself off to photos of you inside a cramped tour bus for three months, then imagine how much you need him after pretending a dildo is anywhere near as good as the real thing.

As soon as the door shuts. And his bag drops on the floorboards. You hear him call your name, tired, expecting to find you asleep.

Instead he finds you on his bed - laid out on your stomach full ass in view, new set he's never seen before, dark and delicate against your skin. You watch his throat bob as he takes you in, all that tiredness vanishing from his eyes in an instant.

"Christ," he breathes. "You're killing me."

You turn around to face him, letting your legs fall open, just slightly. "Been thinking about you."

He's on you before you blink. Mouth hot on your neck, hands rough where they grip your thighs, spreading you wider. He finds out fast how little the fabric actual covers you, just a few scraps of lace, already soaked through.

"Fuck, baby," he groans against your ear, fingers across you. "Been saving this?"

"A welcome home present." you gasp, arching into his hand. "Touch me. Please - "

He does. Two fingers plummenting in deep, curling, watching your face reminding him that this is actually real and not just and not just a really good dream. You clench around him, whining, and he actually shudders.

"Gonna come just like this?" he asks, mean and soft at once. "Before I even get my cock in you?"

You try to answer but he's already stripping, shoving his jeans down without unbuttoning them properly. He pulls the lace aside, not bothering to take it off you, and sinks in with one long stroke - both of you moaning, loud and unguarded.

"Missed this," he grits out, already fucking you hard, headboard knocking the wall. "Missed you. Fuck - "

You wrap your legs around him pulling him in, nails digging in, meeting every thrust. He watches where he disappears inside you, filthy and fascinated, then catches your mouth when you clench around him - warning him, close -

"Yeah?" he pants, speeding up, chasing it with you. "Gonna squeeze me dry, sweetheart?"

You come first, wailing, and he follows right after - burying himself deep, groaning your name into your shoulder like a secret.

Afterwards, when your wrecked and sweating, he laughs against your neck. "Best fucking welcome home."

You hum, still trembling. "I think you tore it."

"Good." He kisses your jaw, already half-hard again, still inside you. "Wanna do it again?"

The way I way I gasped when I saw this? I was literally about to go to bed.🥱💤

[keerymehome]

Suggesting handcuffs with joeeeeee

⌯⌲ Joe Drabbles Masterlist

Yeah you definitely did this after he got arrested by Sabrina.

You had pulled out the handcuffs - they were silver, fuzzy pink lined, basically exact replicas of the ones she used. You just watch Joe's eyes go dark, his cock already beginning to twitch against his thigh.

"Wrists up," you grin. "No touching unless I say."

He swallows, throat catching, and lifts his arms slowly. You cuff him to the headboard, clicking them shut, and he can help himself from testing them immediately - pulling hard, biceps flexing, tendons standing out. They hold. A shudder runs through him, his chest heaving.

"Fuck," he breathes, blown-pupil and something beginning to shift "Can't move."

You sit back, enjoying the view and enjoying your fine work - his cock was thick and flushed against his stomach, wet at the tip with precum, his thighs tense and trembling already.

"Baby," he whispers, but he's sinking into it, voice soft and submissive tone you rarely heard "Can't leave me like this."

You ghost a finger down his shaft and he sobs, hips bucking up hard, cuffs clinking.

"Please - " he begs, cracking, he's broken already. "More. I'll be good - "

You take him into your mouth and he screaming, it's raw and desperate, his whole body jerking against the restraints. He's babbling now - "too much, too good, please" - his face is flushed and sweating, completely coming undone for you.

You pull off him slowly and he whimpers, his body now slowly relying on your touch, his voice is high and broken, his cock twitching helplessly.

"Not yet," you tease, and sink down onto him in one go.

He sobbing now, actually sobbing, his hips snapping up into you frantically, the cuffs keeping him from pulling you closer, from taking. He's gorgeous like this - tears slipping down his temples, voice wrecked, completely surrendered to his fate.

"Please - " he chants, "let me touch - I'll be so good - make you feel so good"

You ride him slow, feeling his heart hammer against your palms rapidly. "My toy," you remind him. "My rules."

He groans, surrendered, muscles relaxing and he cums hard - shuddering forever, breaking your name.

After you finish, and you take what you need from him, you uncuff him, kiss his wrists where the red marks from him pulling are forming. He pulls you close immediately, soft and wrecked. Hair stuck to his forehead.

"Fuck..." he mumbles, smiling.

"Don't act like you didn't love it."

"Yeah," he admits, shy suddenly. "Can we - again?"

You grin. "Whenever you want, pretty boy."

He melts, content with being yours. "Love you," he breathes.

"Love you too."

A/N: I wanna have marks all over those pretty wrists cause he can't control himself.

[keerymehome]

Sitting on joes lap making out and feeling him get hard under you

⌯⌲ Joe Drabbles Masterlist

Oh - oh yes.

Imagine right this is basically just a regular occurance at this point.

You're making out on the couch, half-watching some movie you've both seen before, seemed like a good idea at first but you both can basically just quote it. You're on Joe's lap because... you always are, his hands are warm on your hips, his mouth is soft against yours, and you feel pretty fucking good right where you are.

You shift a little bit to get comfortable, pressing down a little - not intentional, and he's just... soft beneath you. Warm through his jeans, relaxed, not really thinking about it. You keep kissing him, lazy and slow, and don't think much of it either.

But then you feel it start. Just a little at first - the gradual swell beneath you, the way he goes from giving way to pushing back slightly. You roll your hips again - now a little delibrate - and there's more there now, definitely firmer than before, starting to take shape against you.

"Fuck," Joe mumbles against your mouth, though he doesn't stop kissing you. His fingers tighten on your waist.

You keep moving, small shifts, and feel him stiffen more - now there's a definite ridge there, pressing up into you through his jeans. You can feel exactly where he's hardening, the shape of him filling out, and it's kind of obscene how you can map every inch of it through the denim.

You grind down, needing the friction yourself now cause feeling him like this is getting you wet and he breaks the kiss, breathing hard. "Sorry, that's - " He laughs, embarrassed, but his hips tilt up into you, seeking more. "You're just... right there."

Now he's fully hard, cock standing up rigid beneath you, and you can feel the whole length of it, the head pressing right where it counts. You roll your hips again and he groans, head dropping back.

"Feel good?" you ask, casual, like you're not currently feeling exactly what you wanted.

"You're evil," he breathes, but he's smiling, hands pulling you closer. "Keep doing that."

So you do.

He shudders, hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer. "You're gonna kill me."

"Good death, though."

[keerymehome]

Love love LOVEE your fic about reader receiving joe with a new lingerie set, and I thought maybe you could write something like Joe and reader sharing a cig while she rides him 🤭🤭🤭

⌯⌲ Joe Drabbles Masterlist

Oh thank you lovely!

I'm picturing this...

The balcony door's cracked open slightly, city humming below. You've already sunk down on his lap, slow and easy, skin to skin, nothing between you as you feel his dick settle in deep.

Joe takes a puff of the cigarettehe lit, offers it to you. You lean in, and wrap your lip around it from between his fingers, never stopping the roll of your hips. He watches, eyes blown out, ash falling somewhere forgotten.

"Fuck," he breathes, free hand settling on your waist. He's not trying to guide you - just feeling, fingertips tracing patterns like he's almost encouraging you. "You're something else."

You exhale smoke up into the air, grinning. "Yeah?"

He nods, throat bobbing, thumb digging into your hip - a warning bruise. "Slow down, wanna feel you. Every part."

You don't, why would you? The feeling of hin dragging against your walls is pure bliss. Instead you go faster, wanting to watch him fall apart - you can visible see the cigarette shaking in his fingers, head dropped back against the chair, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

"Brat," he laughs, wrecked, but his other hand finds yours, lacing fingers tight. He squeezes when you clench around him, gasping. "There - right there - "

You take the cig, finish it, toss it away in the ash tray. Then lean down, kiss him deep and the taste of ash on both your tongues, still rolling. Through both of your highs. He meets you halfway, tongue slow and searching, like he's tasting every moment he was gone.

He moans into your mouth, forehead pressing yours. "Love you. Fuck - love you so much - "

You know. You kiss his jaw, his throat, the scar on his collarbone he got from you. Ride him through it as you feel his cum paint your insides, your lazy and mean, until he's gasping your name into your shoulder overally sensative, arms wrapped tight around your back like he'll float away otherwise.

After, you don't move. You stay joined, breathing hard, his heartbeat thudding against your chest, cum slowly dripping out.

He lights another, shaky hands, and holds it to your lips first. You share it properly this time, passing back and forth, tangled and sweating, trading smoke and soft kisses that taste like him.

"Welcome home," you whisper.

He tucks hair behind your ear, eyes soft and wrecked and only on you. "Don't wanna be anywhere else."