making out w/joe and dry humping till he cums in his pants (^-^)
⌯⌲ Joe Drabbles Masterlist
Hehehehehehehe 🥵
The movie's long been forgotten. You're on Joe's couch, tangled in each other, his mouth's hot and insistent against yours. His hands are under your shirt, tracing patterns on your waist, his whole body trembling with how much he wants you.
"Fuck," he mumbles against your jaw, hips rolling up, grinding against your thigh. He's hard - thick and straining through his jeans, the outline so obvious. "You feel so good."
You slightly shift, pressing your thigh harder against him, and the way he groans - it's low and wrecked, his head falling back, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.
"Fucking tease," he breathes, but his eyes are blown wide, so needy, his fingers digging into your waist.
You move to straddle him, settling onto his lap, your core pressing so perfectly against his cock. He let's a gasp slip - sharp and surprised - his hands flying to your hips, gripping tighter, his knuckles turning white.
"Oh my god - " he chokes out, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his breath coming in fast and hot against your neck. "Move - please, baby, move - "
You roll your hips again slow, grinding down, and he's a whinning mess - so fuckinghigh and desperate - his whole body jerking beneath you. He's panting, open-mouthed, his fingers flexing and trembling on your hips as his nails dig in.
"So good - so good - " he chants, voice cracking under pressure, his hips snapping up to meet you, clumsy and needy. "Don't stop - please don't stop - "
You kiss him, it's so messy, and his hips stutter, losing their rhythm, just blind rutting up against you now. He's whimpering into your mouth, continuous, broken sounds, his face flushed dark, sweat gathering at his temples.
"Close - " he warns, his voice shattered, his grip on your hips painful now almost drawing blood, his whole body is coiled tight. "Fuck, I'm so close - gonna - fuck - "
You grind down harder, cocky and confident circling your hips, and he shouts - loud and raw - his head thrown back, his throat exposed, his cock pulsing hot and wet against you as he spills into his jeans. He freezes while his muscles shudder - cock still convulsing - his hands falling from your hips to grip the couch cushions, and his chest is heaving like he can't breathe.
"Oh my god - " he groans, face buried in your neck in embrassessment his voice ruined, his muscles still twitching. "Fuck. Fuck. I'm sorry - "
You laugh, breathless, fingers in his sweaty hair in praise. "For what? That was hot."
He pulls back, eyes blown, face flushed dark, his mouth red and bitten. "Really?"
"Yeah," you whisper, and kiss him slowly.
He grins slightly against your lips - crooked, wicked - his hands already sliding down, eager to continue despite the mess in his jeans. "Lemme make it up to you," he murmurs.
The obsession starts when his t-shirt rides up after he stretches - like when he's reaching for something on a high shelf, or yawning first thing in the morning, lifting his arms. That strip of skin, so pale and soft, his tummy rounding slightly where it meets his hips hair trailing under his sweatpants.
You adore it. The way it feels under your palm when your hugging him from behind, so warm. The way it presses against your back when he cuddling you in bed.
Joe notices, he catches the way your eyes drift down his figure, the way your hand naturally perches there, how your fingers trace the soft curve.
"Kinda self-conscious," he admits one night, your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat, your hand resting on his belly. "Used to be more toned. For roles. And now - "
"Now you're perfect," you interrupt, your voice firm, your fingers spreading against his skin. "Now you're more soft. Which is more real."
He laughs, struggling to find a response, instead, his hand covers yours. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," you say, and press a kiss against his chest, working your way down - slow, worshipping - until your mouth finds that soft curve, your tongue darting out to to press flat against him, tasting his skin.
"Hey - " he breathes, slightly surprised, his stomach jumping at the feeling.
"Mine," you mumble against him, hands drifting to his hips "So soft. Love this version of you. All mine."
He groans, clearly affected by your words, his fingers start tangling in your hair, encouraging. You keep going, mouth tracing lower, following the trail of hair down, enjoying the softness, everything he was once trying to hide. He shivers in response, his hips start shifting, you can feel his cock thickening against your chin in his sweats.
You pull down his shorts and boxers to take him into your mouth, sucking slowly, your hand coming back to press on his tummy, feeling it rise and fall with his shaky moan. He's completely hard now, aching in your mouth, your tongue swirling against his tip while your palm starts rubbing soft circles.
"Fuck - " he manages to choke out, his head falling back, his tummy trembling under your touch. "Love you - love - shit - "
You hum around him, satisfied by his response, the vibration making him groan even more, his fingers tightening in your hair - he's not trying to guide you, just holding on for dear life. You feel powerful like this, making him fall apart.
He cums with your name spilling from his lips, his whole body is shuddering, his soft tummy jumping and twitching under your palm as he spills his cum down your throat.
Once he comes down from his high, you curl together perfectly, your hand back where it started - resting on his belly, feeling his heartbeat slow.
"Still love it," you mumble, sleepy.
"Yeah?" he asks, hopeful this time.
"Always will," you promise, pressing a kiss there, your lips dipping ever so slightly into the pudge.
lowk reader being like OBSESSED with joes adam’s apple..?? like marking it, sucking on it, just anything even when they’re being domestic she like kisses it softly and gnaws at it a little
⌯⌲ Joe Drabbles Masterlist
I've lowkey (totally not lowkey I'm lying) thought about this.
It just... gets to you. That fucking sharp, bobbing point in his throat, shifting when he swallows, when he talks, when he groans. You're obsessed with it. Helplessly, stupidly obsessed.
The idea pops into your head first during an interview, his head thrown back laughing at something dumb Charlie said. The column of his throat and the way it moves, the shape of it. You need to put your mouth there. Want to feel it shift against your tongue.
And so you do, later that night. Straddling him in his dressing room, your lips finding his throat, his pulse hammering under your mouth. He swallows - bob - and you can help but moan, pressing closer, your teeth grazing the sharp edges.
"Fuck," he chokes out, his hands gripping your waist, his hips bucking up into you. "What - what are you - "
"Your throat," you mumble against his skin, sucking, marking with small bites, your tongue tracing the outline of it. "Love it. Love this."
He groans, loud and suddenly he's equally obsessed, his head falling back, giving you more, more access, more throat to worship.
It becomes a whole thing actually.
When he's making coffee, still sleepy, you come up behind him, your mouth finding the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, working your wag up, and up, until you're at his Adam's apple, your teeth grazing, your tongue pressing flat.
"Morning," you mumble, and he laughs - bob - and you feel it, savor the way it moves.
"You're absolutely ridiculous," he says, but his hand finds your hip, keeping you there.
When he's reading, legs stretched wide on the couch, you settle your head on his chest, your mouth idly finding his throat, your tongue tracing slow circles, your teeth start nipping at it again. He swallows, bob, and you hum, satisfied.
"Gonna leave a mark," he warns, his voice rough, his eyes still on his book - but his free hand is in your hair, petting, encouraging you on.
"Good," you say, and suck harder.
He groans, his book forgotten on his lap now, his hips shifting, his cock already straining.
When he fucks you now, you make him keep his head back, his throat exposed, your mouth never leaving his Adam's apple - sucking, biting, absolutely assulting his throat. The feeling of it shift when he swallows, when he groans your name is excillerating.
"Please," he pants, desperate, his hips snapping hard. "Baby, please - gonna - "
You bite down, hard, right at the moment he cums, his whole body shuddering, his throat working against your mouth, bobbing, shifting, so perfect.
You trace it after with your finger, the mark you left is already turning purple, and you know it's going to last a few days.
"Your obsessed," he mumbles, sleepy and satisfied.
"Yeah," you admit, pressing a soft kiss there, your tongue darting out to taste his sweat. "Your fault by the way and don't act like you don't enjoy it."
He laughs, bob, and you moan against his skin, already ready for round two with your hips shifting.
"Ridiculous," he repeats, but he's smiling, his hand in your hair, holding you close.
Feel like joe is definitely the bf to walk with his hand in your back pocket whenever he gets the chance to
⌯⌲ Joe Drabbles Masterlist
.... Man I wish someone would put their hand in my back pocket 😣
Okay so - Mr. Joe Keery and his beautiful hands.
It's casual at first. You're walking through the mall, just running some errands together, and his arm slides around your waist first. It's natural. Easy. Joe touching you is like breathing.
Then his hand dips lower, slowly. Slips gently into your back pocket, fingers spreading against your ass, and he just... Leaves it there. Like it belongs. Almost like he's claiming the curve of your ass as his.
"Joe."
"What?" All innocent, that wide-eyed look on his face that fools absolutely no one. "My hand's were cold and you're warm."
"Your hand is not cold."
"Are too." He squeezes, just slightly, and you feel it rush through your body. "Better, now?"
You roll your eyes at him but lean into him anyway. He smells like expensive cologne and confidence, and his thumb starts tracing circles against the denim, barely there but completely maddening at the same time.
Later, at the movies. With the complete darkness covering you, shoes stuck to sticky floors. Joe's arm is already around your shoulders. You think that's it. Think maybe he'll actually watch the film for once.
Yeah no...
His hand trails down your spine, slow, deliberate, sending shocks every inch he travels, and slides right back into that fucking pocket. Deeper this time. Pulling you closer to him, hip to hip, until you can feel his heat this time.
"Can't see," you whisper.
"Yes you can." His mouth is at your ear, breath warm. "I'm not blocking anything."
"You're distracting though"
"Good." He nips your earlobe, hand flexing in your pocket, and you bite down a gasp. "Want you thinking about me. Want you knowing exactly where my hand is. What I'd do to you if we were alone."
"Joe - "
"Shh." He settles back, smug as hell, eyes fixed on the screen like he's actually watching. But his thumb keeps moving again. Those little maddening strokes. Little promises. "Later," he murmurs, so quiet only you hear. "Gonna put my hands everywhere. Everywhere you want. Everywhere you need them."
You spend the whole movie fidgeting, squirming in your seat, completely unable to focus on anything except the weight of his palm against your ass, holding you close, holding you like your his.
Once your in the parking lot, he finally pulls his hand free. Wraps both arms around you instead, lifting you off your feet, spinning you around until you're laughing into his shoulder.
"Joe! Stop!" you say against his mouth.
"Mhmm." He sets you down, slow, lets you slide against him. "You love it. Love knowing I'm thinking about you always. Touching you. Showing everyone you're mine."
He slides his hand back in that pocket, squeezes your ass, and grins.
"Come on. Let's go home. Gonna need both hands for what I have planned."
I feel like this needs a content warning so ehm
Warning: 18+ only, MDNI, fingering, unprotected p n v, creampie, degradation, use of slut/whore, public sex (it's filmed), yippie.
The lights are too hot on your skin. That's what you're trying to tell yourself as sweat beads collect at your hairline, your heart's hammering against your ribs like it's threatening to escape and expose you. It's all the lights fault and the pressure of the crew watching - definitely not the way Joe's thigh is pressed between yours, not the way his hand is gripping your hip with a possession that feels increasingly less choreographed with every take that passes.
"And... action."
His mouth finds yours instantly. This is take seven now. Honestly you've lost count of how many times he's kissed you today - it started at the table read two weeks ago, that first kiss was purely professional, the press of closed lips against each other while the director talked through blocking. Then take one was mechanical, all about angles and camera awareness. Take three was when it started to get sloppy, you both started lingering. Take five, his tongue had traced the seam of your lips before the director called cut, that wasn't in the script and neither of you acknowledged it.
Now, take seven, and this time his kiss is hungry. Like he was starving.
You respond because honestly you stopped acting three takes ago. Your fingers are tangled in his hair - that ridiculously, iconic hair fans obsess over, and fuck, it's softer than you imagined, so real, and he's groaning into your mouth when you pull at it just hard enough to hurt.
"Cut!"
You don't pull away immediately. Joe's forehead stays pressed against yours, his breathing is ragged, his eyes are blown wide. The director is rambling about something, the angle, about needing more desperation, more raw desire, and you feel Joe's smirk against your lips before he pulls away.
"Got it," he says, voice rough. "We can give you raw."
---
"Places!"
The bed frame is a prop, but the mattress is real, and it dips as he climbs over you. The blocking says he should settle between your thighs, roll his hips as a simulation of sex while the camera focuses on your faces - your bodies. However, the blocking doesn't say anything about his cock - it's hard, you can feel it now, thick, insistent through his thin modesty garment - but it's there, and he's not shy about it, and when the director calls action this time, neither of you are pretending anymore.
"Kiss her like you're drowning," the director calls out. "Make us believe you'd die without her."
Joe's mouth crashes against yours, it's violent and it's perfect, everything you imagined in the dark of your trailer at 2 AM. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs grazing the underside of your breasts through silk fabric, and you arch into him with a sound that isn't in the script.
"Good," someone says. "Keep going. We need the full sequence."
Fuck- the full sequence. That means the grind, the simulated sex, the way he's supposed to just rut against you while you fake pleasure for the camera.
Except as Joe's hips roll, his cock drags against your core through too many layers, and the moan you let out is genuine, helpless, desperate. His mouth tears away from yours, finds your ear, and his breath is hot, panting, and then -
"Fucking slut."
It's a whisper. Barely audible. Only for you since there's no mics for this scene.
Your whole body jerks against him, shock and arousal flooding through you. He can feel it, let's out a chuckle so dark and filthy against your jaw, and grinds down even harder.
"You've been wet for this since the table read," he breathes, lips brushing your throat now. "Haven't you? You've been getting off from me kissing you for our jobs."
"Joe - "
"Quiet." His hand is sliding between your bodies and suddenly his fingers are dipling under your slip, into your underwear, and he's inside you, two fingers curling perfectly, and the camera is still rolling, the crew is watching, and you can't make a sound or they'll know, they'll know this isn't acting anymore. "You're going to take it. Take my fingers like the desperate fucking whore you are."
You're soaked. Embarrassingly so, and he groans when he feels it, when he realizes how you've managed to completely fall apart for him. His thumb finds your clit, circling it with cruel precision while his fingers fuck you slow, so slow, fucking torturous, and his hips keep rolling, he keeps giving the camera the motion they need while he ruins you in secret.
"Look at you," he whispers into your mouth, kissing you sloppy, swallowing your whimpers. "Letting me finger you in front of twenty people. What would they say if they knew, hmm? If they knew you were clenching around my fingers like this, ready to come just from being used on camera?"
You move to bite his shoulder through his shirt to muffle your cry. He laughs, bites back, just behind the shell of your ear hard enough to mark, and crooks his fingers to hit that spot that makes your vision blur.
"That's it," he praises, and it sounds genuine, worshipful even through the degradation, because he's as lost in at as you are, because his cock is leaking in his pants, because this is real now, irrevocably and tragically real. "Good girl. Such a good little slut for me. You gonna cum? Gonna cream around my fingers while they film it?"
"Please - "
"Please what?"
"Please, I need - "
"Need what? Say it. Tell me what you need like the dirty fucking whore you are."
"Need you to fuck me," you gasp, recklessly, arching into him further, his fingers drive you toward the edge with merciless skill. "Need your cock, please, Joe, please - "
"Cut!"
The word barely register with either of you. Joe doesn't stop - his fingers only slow, teasing you, keeping you hovering on the precipice of an orgasm while the director approaches the bed. You stare up at the ceiling, chest heaving, trying to look like you were just acting, just pretending to be aroused, while Joe's fingers stay buried deep inside you.
"That was great," the director says, oblivious, checking the closest monitor. "Really electric. But I think we need one more, just to be safe. The lighting shifted weird in the last thirty seconds. Can you give me one more with that same energy?"
"Absolutely," Joe says, voice perfectly monotone, and curls his fingers inside you just to feel you clench again. "We've still got plenty of energy left. Don't we?"
You nod, unable to speak, and the director walks away, calling for a quick relight.
"One more take," Joe murmurs, finally withdrawing his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to suck them clean. "And I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk. Until you're dripping my cum, until everyone on this fucking set knows who owns this pussy."
"Joe - "
He slaps your thigh near your ass, sharp and sudden, and you yelp before catching yourself. "Quiet. You take what I give you. You take it like the slut you are." Another slap, harder this time, the sound of skin on skin is lost in the ambient noise of chatter on set. "Spread your legs wider. Show me how hungry your cunt is for me."
You obey, trembling, and he palms himself through his pants with a groan.
"That's my girl. My perfect little whore." He settles back between your thighs, positioning himself, and you realize with a shock that he's actually going to do it - right here, with the crew less than ten feet away, with the cameras rolling, he's going to -
"Action!"
He slams into you with one brutal thrust, and you scream into his mouth because it's too much, he's too big, and he doesn't give you even a second to adjust before he's fucking into you with deep, punishing strokes. The bed rocks, the camera captures it, and to anyone watching it's just perfect acting, perfect simulation from two professionals, except it's not, it's real, and Joe is groaning against your neck with every thrust, his hands gripping your ass to angle himself deeper into you.
"So tight," he grits out, barely audible against your skin. "So fucking perfect. Taking my cock like you were made for it, aren't you? You were made to be fucked, filled and used by me."
"Yes," you whimper, and he slaps your ass again, softer so the noise doesn't travel and blow your cover.
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I'm - I'm made for it, I'm your - your - "
"My slut," he corrects, driving deeper again, hitting something inside you that is making yojr vision turn to stars burst behind your eyes. "Say it."
"Your slut," you gasp, and he rewards you with a hand around your throat that wasn't in the script but everyone would just assume is improv. "I'm your slut, Joe, please, please - "
"Gonna fill you now," he promises, hips starting to stutter, losing their rhythm as he gets closer. "Gonna pump you full of my cum, right here, while they watch. Gonna make you walk around the rest of the day dripping of me. Everyone will know. Everyone will be able to smell it on you, see it across your face. My little slut, marked and claimed - "
He cums with a sound like he's dying, like he's being torn apart, and you feel it, the hot pulse of him flooding you, and it's too much, the filthiness, the reality where you are, and you clench around him and follow him over the edge, cumming so hard all you can see is white, your nails are raking down his back, your teeth stuck in his shoulder to muffle your scream.
"Cut!"
The word hangs in the air. Neither of you dare to move. Joe stays inside you, still twitching, still leaking into you, his face is buried in your neck where the camera can't see his expression of pure, shattered bliss.
"That was - " The director pauses. "Incredible. Really. The chemistry there was just - wow. I think we got it. Let's move on to the next scene set-up."
His footsteps are retreating. Conversation's returning around you that you can't make sense of. The lights shifting, changing, the crew moving to the next setting.
Joe lifts his head. His eyes are blown out, his hair wrecked, his lips swollen from your mouth. He looks devastated and perfect.
"Hi," he whispers, and it's so soft, so tender after what just happened that your chest aches.
"Hi," you breathe back.
He pulls out slowly, and you feel it - the emptiness and his cum already starting to drip out. He take's the look on your face, the realisation of what happened, and smirks, the same one that started all this.
"Told you you gotta keep it," he murmurs, his fingers pushing his cum back inside you before moving your garment back to cover you, patting your thigh possessively. "All day. I want to know you're walking around full of me."
"Joe - "
He grabs your ass and squeezes, playful but firm. "Mine now. Say it."
You look up at him, at this ridiculous, beautiful man who just fucked you stupid on a film set, and you feel the word spill from your mouth like a prayer.
"Yours."
"Good girl." He kisses you, soft and sweet, nothing like the violence he displayed before. "Now, meet me in my trailer later. Need to hear your screams next time."
Joe is your husband now and you reallyyyy love feeding him well, cooking him delicious meals or packing lunches for work, after some time he gains a little tummy and you’re obsessed (I know you already wrote about tummy but ughhghh I can’t get enough😫)
⌯⌲ Joe Drabbles Masterlist
I can't..... get this freaking tummy out of my god damn head.
The lunches had started as purely practical at first. He's on set all day, needs extra fuel, and always without fail forgets to eat when he's busy. You pack containers - full of roast chicken, rice, vegetables, little cookies you baked in boredom one Sunday afternoon. He calls you from his trailer, mouth full, voice slightly muffled because he can't forget to thank you.
"Best wife," he says, always. "Love you so much."
You adore the sound of him eating what you made. The little groans when it's something hit the mark perfectly. The way he's started to text you photos - of clean containers, little thumbs up, sometimes a selfie with sauce still on his chin.
Dinners become your time. The kitchen is warm and steamy, his constant hovering, stealing little bites here and there when he thinks you arent watching, his chin resting on your shoulder while you stir hands spread across your own stomach. You feed him with your fingers occastionally - pasta, sauce, cheese - and love watching the way his eyes close and his throat bobs as he swallows.
"Gonna put on weight at this rate," he mumbles, half-teasing, his thumb making its way under your shirt.
"Good," you say, and press back into him more.
Few months pass and you notice how his body changes - it's slow, natural, the result of eating half decently and being loved. His jeans fit different. His t-shirts cling a little too tight. You start keeping a catalogue. The way his waistband digs in slightly, soft flesh spilling out the top. The way he looks more settled and content with himself.
Safe to say you're obsessed. Can't keep away from that little rounded tummy. Your hands find it naturally at breakfast, while he's reading scripts on the couch. So warm.
One morning, when he's still in bed, extra sleepy, stretched completely out. His shirts rides up. You crawl over him, your palm flat against his belly, just feeling for its rise and fall, extra vulnerable.
He blinks up at you, slightly confused "What're you doing?"
"Loving you," you say, simple. Your fingers are spread, claiming your hard work. "This. Here. Mine."
He laughs out a small breathless puff, his own hand covering yours. "I'm getting a belly."
"Nooo... it's perfect," you correct, and plant a kiss into his soft flesh, he groans slightly, with his hips being to shift, cock slowly thickening.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," you whisper, pushing his shirt up more, your mouth finds a rhythm - kissing, nipping, your tongue flat tracing that soft curve. "My good boy. Letting me take care of you. Letting me love you this much."
A shudder runs up his spine, fingers hooking under yoir chin, his tummy is trembling. "Of course," his eyes are focused now, wrecked. "You take care of me so well."
I neeeeed something about biting joe’s biceps i want to CHOMP ON THEM
⌯⌲ Joe Drabbles Masterlist
^^^^ Mhmm yesssss.
You have come to the right spot my friend, I am the connoisseur of wanting to bite that man.
Joe's just casually stretching after a workout, his arms are raised and his biceps are just right fucking there - they're thick, rounded, straining against his skin. Honestly anyone reasonable would do the same thing in this scenario. You stand up, slowly make your way over, wrap your arms around him and sink your teeth into the meat of his arm.
"Jesus - " He jumps to look at you, then laughs. "What was that for?"
"You looked tasty," you mumble against his arm, not letting go.
He tries to pull away but you're latched on, humming contentedly, and he gives up with a groan that spreads through his shoulders. "You're actually - ow - you're a lil chomper."
You release him finally, inspect the faint red mark thats left behind, and grin. "Again?"
"You're absolutely ridiculous." But he's flexing now, deliberately, offering his arm to you again. "Go on then. Get it out of your system."
Well the offers to good to let go. This time you go slower, sinking in until he hisses, really savoring it - his sharp breath intake, head dropping back.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Okay, that's - that's babyyy."
You pull back, worried as he let's out a whine, but his eyes are glossed over, pupils blown wide, and he's pulling you closer, not pushing away.
"Do it harder," he says, voice daring. "Want to see it tomorrow."
You oblige - chomp - and he moans, fingers tangling in your hair to hold you there longer.
"God, you're so mean," he gasps, but he's rocking into you now, hard and completely onboard with your schemes now.
You release him, lick the mark - it's dark, perfect - and look up. "Still think I'm ridiculous?"
Joe hauls you upon your tip-toes, mouth finding yours, messy. "Ridiculously hot," he corrects, guiding your hand back. "Now mark the other one. Can't have them not matching."
The next week he's caught in public with only long sleeves.
Imagine this: Your relationship with Joe is new, going well, but neither of you have said the L word yet, even though you both are very sure that you’re in love. You stayed the night at his place, overslept, so you’re rushing to work in the morning, and before you leave you go “have to go, love you, see you later” you don’t even realized you said it, it just slipped out of you tongue so easily… And Joe just freezes and he’s like “oh… did she just—?”
Then, later at night when you are back at this place, you talk, you both say it properly and it’s just all very cute & romantic environment 💗💗
(Sometimes my mouth works before my brain does, so I feel if I was about to tell my bf I love him for the first time, it’d be something like this lol)
⌯⌲ Joe Drabbles Masterlist
You wake up to Joe shaking your shoulder, his voice pitched high laced with panic.
"Babe. Babe. It's 8:15."
Your eyes snap open. "Fuck! I was meant to have a meeting at 9!"
"I know. I know." He's already grabbing your clothes out of the cupboard and throwing them at you, mismatched socks flying through the air. "Your phone died during the night. I'm sorry, I didn't check - "
You scramble out of bed, hopping into jeans, securing your bra messily, throwing on your blouse and grabbing your bag with one hand and the coffee he hands you with the other. "Keys. Where are my - "
"The counter." He follows you to the door in a panic, hair wild from sleep, shirt inside out somehow. "Do you need - should I drive you?"
"No time. Should have time - " You shove your feet into your shoes, not bothering with the heels today, you gibe him a kiss, it's quick and messy onto his lips. "Have to go now, love you, see you later."
You're halfway down the hall before your brain catches up with what you said.
You freeze in place. Turn towards him.
Joe's still standing in the doorway, hand raised from where he'd been gesturing earlier, eyes wide in shock, lips slightly parted. He looks like he's been struck by lightning.
"Did I just - " you start.
"I - " He blinks. "Did you just - "
The elevator dings at it arrives on your floor. You look at it before looking back at him, panic littered on both of your faces, but now shifting to something warm.
"I have to go," you whisper.
"Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, go. Go!"
You get in the elevator. The doors closes and your out of his sight now, but Joe's still frozen, processing everything.
The entire work day is a blur. You mess up your presentation spectacularly, smile a little too hard at your boss, and spend a total of three hours staring at your phone wondering if you should text him. Sorry about this morning. I didn't mean to say that. I meant it but I didn't mean to say it like that. Do you love me back? Please say you love me back.
You end up not sending anything.
At 7 PM, you standing outside his door with takeout and wine, rehearsing lines in your head. So. About this morning. I panicked. But also I meant it. But also if you don't feel that way yet that's totally fine -
The door opens before you knock.
Joe's stood there, freshly out of the shower, in a nice dress shirt, candles are lit behind him and he looks nervous as hell.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi."
"You said - "
"I know."
"And I didn't say - " He stops, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't say it back. And I've been dying all day because I should have. I've wanted to - I've wanted to say it for weeks."
Your heart hammers inside your chest. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He steps aside finally, letting you in. The apartment smells like whatever he's attempted to cook has ended up burned. "I was waiting for the right moment. Some kinda of romantic dinner. But then you - " He laughs, finally relaxing. "You just threw it out there like it was so natural and obvious and left me standing there like an idiot."
You set down the takeout, turning to face him. "I didn't plan it. It just… came out."
"That's how I know you meant it." He cups your face, thumbs stroking at your cheekbones. "You didn't think. You just felt it. And I feel it too. Every day I'm with you. I love you."
You melt into him, pressing your forehead to his chest. "Say it again please."
"I love you." He kisses your hair. "I love you. I'm in love with you."
You look up, grinning, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. "Even when I'm silly and forget to charge my phone and we're both panicked?"
"Especially then." He kisses you again, properly this time, slow and deep, all the morning chaos settling into a forgotten memory. "Now can we eat the takeout and pretend I cooked it?"
