hey!! what about joe w massive baby fever after seeing reader w his nieces
ˋ°•*⁀➷ Someday, Under the Oak
ˋ°•*⁀➷ Joe Keery x Reader
Summary: You fall asleep under an oak tree with Joe's niece in your arms - and wake to find him watching you like he's seen the rest of his life. He doesn't know you heard him say I want to build everything with you.
ˋ°•*⁀➷ Oh he's down BAD
A/N: thank you for the request!! I needed a change up tonight, we've gone ultra fluff mode 😘
Word Count: 1,923
The weather had turned crisp that October afternoon, the kind of day where the air smells like woodsmoke. You were at Joe's sister's place for a family barbecue, a significant step in your relationship - meeting his extended family, the small cousins, the people who had known him when he had braces and a terrible haircut.
You'd been nervous. You'd changed about three times. But now, three hours in, you were barefoot in the backyard, grass cool between your toes, and you'd forgotten that you were anxious entirely.
Because of her.
Cora was three, all chubby wrists and sticky fingers with a crown of dark curls that defied gravity. She had attached herself to you within minutes of arrival, somehow sensing your soft spot for kids, your weakness for small things with big feelings.
Now the two of you were conspiring in the far corner of the yard, engaged in some very serious business.
"More," Cora commanded, her hands on her hips, her pink overalls dusted with grass stains.
"More of what, my love?" you asked, crouching to her level.
"More pwetty." She gestured dramatically at the pile of autumn leaves you'd been slowly collecting, as if you were personally offending her with an insufficient quantity.
You laughed, the sound carrying across the yard, and Joe - who had been helping man the grill - felt it hit him right in the heart. That laugh. God, that laugh. He watched you rake together another pile, your hair falling loose from its clip, your sweater riding up to expose a stripe of skin at your waist that his eyes were trained on.
"Ready?" you asked Cora, and she nodded on time with the gravity of a judge delivering a verdict.
"One… two…"
"Fwee!"
You fell backward into the leaves together, Cora's shrieks of delight mixing with your own breathless laughter. She immediately climbed onto your stomach, bouncing with that destructive toddler glee, sending red and gold leaves fluttering into the air like confetti.
"Again!" she demanded.
So you did it again. And again. You gave her piggyback rides across the lawn, your knees had become grass-stained, your voice hoarse from neighing like a horse at her request. You pushed her on the swing until your arms ached, higher and higher, catching her at the apex of each arc while she threw her head back and squealed at the sky.
Joe flipped burgers and tried not to stare. Tried not to memorize the way you looked with his niece's hand tucked trustingly in yours, the way you slowed your pace to match her stumbling steps, the way you listened to her endless, nonsensical stories with genuine interest, crouching down to meet her eyes like her words were precious.
"She's relentless," his sister said, appearing at his elbow with a platter of buns. "You don't have to let her monopolize your girlfriend, you know."
"She's fine," Joe said, too quickly. "They're fine."
His sister followed his gaze, saw the soft, stupid expression he wasn't bothering to hide, and smiled knowingly. "Oh, I see."
"You don't see anything."
"I see my little brother mentally picking out baby names, but go off I guess."
Joe threw a napkin at her. She laughed and walked away, victorious.
The afternoon wore on in that drowsy way autumn afternoons do. The sunlight slanted lower gradually, turning everything honey-colored and slow. You could feel the day settling into evening, the air growing cooler, the energy of the party softening into contentment.
You and Cora had migrated to the base of the old oak tree at the yard's edge, its trunk massive and gnarled, its leaves a canopy of rust and gold. She'd had found a "fairy house" in the roots - a small hollow between two thick tendrils of wood, carpeted with moss and last year's acorns.
"We nap," Cora announced suddenly, her eyes heavy, her earlier frenzy finally catching up with her small body.
"You want to nap here?" you asked, amused.
"Wif you." She climbed into your lap without waiting for permission, her familiar weight settling against your chest. She smelled like grass, sugar and that particular warm scent of clean. "You be da bed."
"Okay, bug." You adjusted your back against the tree trunk, finding the most comfortable angle you could. "Just a little rest."
She tucked her thumb in her mouth, her other hand finding your hair, winding a strand around her finger the way she had all afternoon on the piggybacks. Her eyelashes fluttered, fought, failed. Within minutes she was heavy and limp against you, her breath deepening into the rhythm of sleep.
You should move. You should find her mother, deposit her in a proper bed, rejoin the adults. But the tree was supporting your tired back, and Cora was radiating warmth like a small furnace. The afternoon had wrapped itself around you like a blanket. Your own eyes grew heavy without you really even noticing. The sounds of the party faded to a pleasant murmur. The last thing you felt was Cora's hand relaxing in your hair, her thumb slipping free of her mouth as she settled deeper against your heart.
You let yourself drift off for just for a moment.
Joe found you twenty minutes later.
He'd been looking, though he told himself he was just checking, just being responsible. The grill was cleaned, the burgers eaten, the sun sinking toward the horizon in a blaze of rose and amber. He'd grabbed a throw blanket from the couch - just in case, it's getting chilly - and followed the path you'd worn through the grass.
Then he stopped. And stared. And felt his heart physically clench in his chest.
You were asleep under that oak tree that held so many of his own memories, your head tilted back against the bark, your mouth slightly open, your chest rising and falling in the deep, even rhythm of exhausted contentment. And Cora - his niece, his sister's daughter, not yours, not yet at least - was curled into you like you were the safest harbor she'd ever known. Her face was smushed against your collarbone, one hand still tangled in your hair, her legs drawn up to her chest and held close by your arm.
The blanket fell from his hand.
He should take a picture. He knew he should take a picture. But he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but stand there and let the future crash over him in waves.
He saw it all, suddenly, with devastating clarity. Not abstract imaginings but specific moments, textured, colored and real.
You, seven months along, too uncomfortable to sleep in the bed, reading on the couch at 2 AM while he rubbed your feet and promised this would all be worth it. The nursery you would obsess over, every detail perfect had to be perfect, while he teased you about nesting but secretly loved watching you prepare. The way you'd look at him across a hospital room, terrified, fierce and ready, right before everything changed forever.
He saw you like this - like you were now - but in their living room, their child asleep against your chest while you dozed in the glider they'd bought secondhand and refinished together. He saw himself covering you with a blanket, pressing a kiss to your forehead, to the soft forehead of their baby's head. He saw years of this. Soccer games, skinned knees and bedtime stories. He saw you teaching their daughter to braid hair, their son to be gentle. He saw the tantrums, the milestones and the million ordinary moments that made up a life built together.
And he saw himself, older, standing in a doorway much like he was now, watching you with grandchildren maybe, still looking at you like you were the miracle he didn't deserve but got anyway.
This, he thought, his throat tight with want. I want this. I want her. I want them. I want everything.
He didn't realize he'd made a sound until Cora stirred, murmuring something against your neck. You didn't wake - too far gone, too trusting in your surroundings - but your arm tightened around her instinctively, protective even in sleep.
Joe crossed the grass quietly, retrieved the fallen blanket, and approached with confidence of a man who finally understood what they wanted. He draped it over both of you, tucking it around Cora's small feet, around your shoulders. Then he sank to his knees in the grass beside you, close enough to feel your warmth, to hear the soft twinning of your breath.
He reached out, hesitantly, and brushed a leaf from your hair. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of your ear, the line of your jaw. You sighed in your sleep, leaning into his touch, and something in his chest broke open and rebuilt itself, stronger, oriented entirely toward this - toward you, toward them.
"I love you," he whispered, even though you couldn't hear. "I love you, and I want to build everything with you. The mess, the noise, the sleepless nights, the tiny shoes by the door. I want to be scared with you. I want to be tired with you. I want to watch you be a mother and be the one who gets to support you, learn from you, grow with you."
He looked at Cora, at the peaceful slackness of her sleeping face, and imagined your features there. Your eyes, your smile. Or his. Some perfect combination that would make him weak every single day.
"She's not even ours," he murmured, half-laughing at himself, "and I can't - I can't breathe looking at you. How am I going to survive our own kid?"
You shifted, your eyes fluttering open, unfocused and drowsy. You found him immediately, like you always did, your lips curving in a sleepy smile.
"Hey," you mumbled. "How long was I out?"
"Not long." He stroked your cheek with his thumb. "You looked peaceful. Didn't want to wake you."
You looked down at Cora, still heavy against you, and the tenderness that softened your face made his heart physically ache. "She crashed hard. Poor bug wore herself out."
"She's not the only one." He stood, holding out his hands. "Come on. I'll carry her inside. You can have the chair by the fire, I'll bring you tea, and you can pretend to be social for twenty more minutes before I make excuses and take you home."
"Such a good boyfriend," you teased, but you took his hand, let him pull you up while carefully transferring Cora's weight to his chest.
She stirred, protested weakly - "Bee?" - but settled quickly against him, recognizing family even in sleep.
"I've got her, bug," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her curls. "Go back to sleep."
You walked beside him across the yard, your hand in his, the blanket draped over your shoulders. The fairy lights were flickering on as the sun said its finally goodbye, painting everything in soft, forgiving glow.
"You okay?" you asked, noticing his silence, the intensity of his grip on your hand.
He stopped at the patio door, Cora warm and real in his arms, you radiant and glowing beside him. He looked at you with everything he felt laid out bare in his eyes.
"Yeah," he said, and his voice was rough, honest, open. "I'm just… I'm really happy. And I really want to keep this. All of it. With you."
You didn't ask what he meant. Maybe you knew. Maybe you felt it too, the weight of potential, the shape of a future pressing close enough to touch.
So you just squeezed his hand and said, "Me too, Joe. Me too."
And when he leaned down to kiss you, careful not to jostle his sleeping niece, it tasted like promise. Like autumn. Like the beginning of everything.
hi! i love your writing! could you possibly do a request for when reader and joe fall in love on set during stranger things? reader meets joe during season 4 and plays steve’s love interest throughout the end of the series but joe falls in love with reader (&vice versa) in real life as well?
love on set
pairing: joe keery x actress! reader
word count: 3.5k
han’s notes: loved this! i do have this fic that could technically serve as a part two to this so check it out once u finish this! -also this isn’t proofread and i started writing this in past tense for some reason then subconsciously kept switching to present tense. i tried to catch most of the tense switches but if there’s any i miss as i wrote ignore it asdfjkglf
when you got the call that you landed the role in your favorite show, you knew your life was about to change. you just didn’t know exactly how much it would.
while your agent rambled on about the role and the schedule for filming and meetings, your mind went into overdrive.
you told yourself this was like any other acting gig. sure, you hadn’t had many, you were still starting out. but your were going to be joining a show you had watched since the beginning in its fourth season as a new character. the stakes felt high.
your character, katherine miller, was the new girl in hawkins. already, you related to her. you just hoped that, like catherine, you weaved your way into the group seamlessly.
when you showed up to the table read, you thought you were going to puke from nerves. but, to your surprise, that feel disappeared the second you walked intro the room.
never had you met such a kind and welcoming group of people. they instantly made you feel like you had been there the entire run of the show.
you thankfully got along instantly with maya and joe, who you’d share most of your scenes with, turning their on screen duo into a trio.
what surprised you the most was joe. he was the first one to approach you, the first to invite you to dinner with the core group, the first to fill you in on any inside joke thrown around.
joe was just a good guy. the kind of good no one believed existed anymore. the kind that seems unattainable, that lived only in female written romance novels.
it was overwhelming, really. you sometimes had to discreetly pinch yourself when spending time with him.
which you did a lot of.
you sort of had to. your character, katherine (or as steve so lovingly called her, kat), was not only the newest addition to the monster hunting group in season four. but she was also the new love interest of steve harrington. one meant to put an end to the tired love triangle between him, nancy, and jonathan.
though, hanging out with joe never felt forced or strictly professional. the two of you had a lot in common, but at the same time perfectly balanced each other out. maya often joked that you two were like yin and yang.
your relationship with joe shifted like the seasons.
when you met, there was a period of time you spent learning each other. learning not only how the other person worked and ticked on set, but learning each other.
joe learned your coffee order, you learned which toppings he preferred on his pizza but would settle for anything to please everyone else. you learned his favorite niche bands and albums and he learned your favorite authors and foreign films.
you danced around each other in a warming newness, equal parts shy and welcoming. all the while, something more was blooming. something beautiful beneath the surface, like spring flowers.
by the summer months, you had fallen into a routine.
summer in georgia was hot and sticky, making set somewhat hellish. but the june sun couldn’t compare to the warmth you felt standing next to joe.
in a way, joe radiated warm energy. he was like the sun and you were some planet drawn to him, orbiting him in awe.
joe also filled you with a different sort of warmth. the kind that settled in deep, causing butterflies to erupt in your belly and your heart to skip a beat.
it was just your characters, you’d tell yourself at the end of the day, when you were melting with exhaustion into the chair in the makeup trailer.
when you caught joe’s soft gaze lingering a little too long, when he smiled brightly at you, when he would playfully nudge you between takes. it was just method acting. right?
as your characters fell in love in small moments between the bigger plot, it all felt a little too real. when the cameras cut, the feelings didn’t fade.
you almost wanted to chase that feeling. you wanted the scenes to keep rolling, if that meant you could stay in joe’s embrace. you could keep hearing his soft professions of love.
even if it wasn’t joe talking. even if, in reality, it was steve saying those things to kat.
meanwhile, joe was going through it.
he liked to think of himself as a professional. he never caught feelings for a coworker, in acting or otherwise.
but now, as he stood on set with you without the cameras even rolling, his heart raced. he felt lighter around you, happier in a quiet, content way.
“you’re in looooove.” maya had told him jokingly one morning before you had gotten to set.
“you’re ridiculous. we’re just best friends. who, you know, happen to play two characters falling in love. if it’s convincing, it just means i’m doing my job right.” joe insisted.
but maya shook her head. “you don’t need to do your job when the camera isn’t rolling. not to mention when you’re not even on set. face it, joseph.”
joe sat quietly, letting maya’s words settle in while the girl proceeded while a dramatic wailing of “so this is love” from cinderella.
joe was conflicted. he had never had the lines blur for him while acting. he thought back to previous on screen love interests. did he feel this way when he and natalia shared romantic scenes? or when his characters in other projects had to flirt or kiss someone?
but he kept getting the same answer. no. joe had never felt this way while acting in romantically driven scenes.
then it hit him like a ton of bricks.
fuck. he was falling in love with you.
joe decided, at least for the time being, he would keep his discovery to himself. the last thing he wanted was to cross boundaries, ruining your friendship and making you uncomfortable at your place of work all in one fell swoop.
but there were moments when joe wanted to risk it all. moments that came all too often.
like during downtime on set on long days, when you and joe sat cross-legged on the ground in the corner of set, knees knocking together as you played cards to pass the time. and you won go fish again, smiling widely as you laid down your last match and wiggled your shoulders excitedly. it took everything in joe not to lean in and close the small gap between you, kissing the grin off your face.
instead, joe settled for smiling at you fondly, letting the feelings simmer inside unbearably.
or when you were at joe’s apartment in a small town outside of atlanta on a night off. the two of you a bottle of wine in, music playing softly from a speaker and joe’s guitar laying across your lap.
your fingers strum, playing a chord you completely made up yourself. truthfully, it sounds awful, and you know it. you’re just goofing off. but it was music to joe’s ears.
you play something wonky that bounces off the walls and laugh, making something twist pleasantly in joe’s chest. he echoes your laugh and, against his better judgement, reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ears.
you meet his gaze and blush.
“how do i sound, mr. music man?”
joe snorts softly. “horrendous.”
you gasp playfully. “rude!”
the two of you giggle before you knock your shoulder into his.
“if i’m so horrendous, teach me.”
joe’s heart leapt in his chest. he moves to make room in front of him, pats the cushion. you bite the inside of your cheek and roll your eyes, but slot yourself in front of him nonetheless.
as joe wraps his arms around you and the guitar, he guides your hands along the strings. your faces are inches from each other, enough for his breath to fan across your cheek.
both of you are trying to keep your cool, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re both going through it.
at one point, after a little while of trying and failing to play something, you sighed defeatedly. you throw your head back against joe’s shoulder with a groan.
“i have zero musical bones in my body.”
joe chuckles turning his head to look down on you. he prayed you couldn’t feel his heart pounding against your back.
“you just gotta keep practicing, sweetheart. we’ll get you there.”
you roll your head to the side, looking up at joe. but your faces end up closer than anticipated. your noses almost brush and your breath catches in your throat.
you don’t know how long you hold each other’s gazes, but joe’s eyes flicker down to your lips and something snaps in him. he pulls away quick, leaving your cheeks burning.
you clear your throat, moving to the opposite end of the couch after setting his guitar down. joe put on a movie and the tension dissipated as soon as it appeared.
but the elephant in the room remained.
it all finally came to a head a few months later.
it was technically fall. but early fall in georgia was still warm. the nights faded into a slightly cooler breeze that felt a little more like autumn.
you’d had a rough week. you had gotten to the more intense scenes as you neared the end of the season. there was more drama, more action, and, of course, the scene where steve finally confessed to katherine.
you supposed the stress was finally getting to you. it didn’t help that you were tired, thanks to months of long days, late nights, and chaotic sleep schedules.
and you felt like you just couldn’t nail this scene.
your character was overwhelmed. between the “murders”, learning about the dark truths beneath hawkins, looking after max (whom she quickly grew a soft spot for), fighting a dark wizard named vecna, and your feelings for steve. it was all a lot.
and it was something you wanted to perfect.
the pain for steve throwing himself into danger. the desperation of wanting him to see her instead of nancy. all the feelings that bubble over and reach a breaking point before the final battle plans.
you were trying to run your lines in your head while final adjustments were made to the lighting, but your gaze was locked onto joe across the field as he had his hair touched up.
it was take three of your confession scene. one of the duffers called for places, you were sure which. it wasn’t important to you right now.
you took your spot sitting on a crate and joe flashed you a smile and thumbs up, which you halfheartedly reciprocated before locking in.
the scene started with catherine sharpening knives, having a moment alone. steve enters, trying to make a lighthearted joke that doesn’t land. reality was too real at the moment.
“hey, you okay?” joe recited his line effortlessly, falling perfectly into steve’s character.
“how can you joke right now?” you scoff, sharpening the blade harder.
joe, steve, frowned, taking a seat next to you. “talk to me.”
you sighed, pausing your movements.
“you almost died, steve. you could still die. all of us can.”
steve couldn’t help himself. “if you knew many times i’ve almost died in the past few years, you wouldn’t be so upset right now.”
you drop the blade and the sharpener to the ground, both clattering to the ground. the camera moved in closer but you tried to ignore it.
“you don’t get it, do you? you almost died steve. hell, i thought i lost you! and here you are making jokes like we aren’t risking our fucking lives! god, you know, sometimes i really just wish you’d get your head out of your ass. you’re a real idiot sometimes. but i guess we have that in common.”you laughed bitterly, your voice cracking as you dug deeper into the scene.
joe reacted perfectly, just like he’d done when rehearsing and during the previous takes. he wore that confused, hurt puppy dog look of steve’s so well.
“kat-“
“no, steve! this is insanity. i feel like im going crazy. last week, i was passing notes about mr. lewinsky’s bald spot with robin during calculus and eating all the popcorn at family video while you sorted the tapes that keith specifically asked me to do because he said i have been slacking off. and now i’m fighting a monster from another dimension that’s been terrorizing and killing my classmates. all the while, i have to sit here and watch you make heart eyes at snooty nancy wheeler, who totally hates me, by the way!” you had run out of breath by the time you finished your rant, avoiding joe, or well, steve’s gaze.
the tension that settled over you felt all too personal. those lines between real and acting were beginning to bleed together.
“i think i love you, katherine.” steve replied, but all you could hear is joe. blame it on your exhaustion, but this was were you began to fall apart in the scene. every take, without fail.
because you were desperate to hear joe say those words to you, but you knew you would have to settle for his character confessing to yours. you’d have to live vicariously through her.
and that did something to your psyche.
when you lifted your gaze to find joe’s eyes burning into you, so fully in character, it made your heart leap and your mind blank. your mouth opened but your lines didn’t come out.
“CUT!”
it was ross and matt had thrown cold water over you with that one word. they might as well have.
“let’s break for lunch. i think we need a breather to regroup.” one of the called out.
you bolted from set faster than anyone could register. you didn’t even stop for joe as he called out for you.
you found a quiet spot behind one of the farthest trailers parker in the lot and sat there for a while. you talked yourself down, telling yourself it was just nerves and exhaustion taking their toll.
your thoughts are interrupted by a small tray containing a sandwich and some chips being held out in front of your face.
you followed the hand, which you recognized instantly, up the arm and to the face of joe smiling down at you, holding his own plate in his other hand.
“brought you lunch.”
“how’d you find me?” you asked with a slight pout, but still mumbling a thanks as you take the food. joe sat down next to you, placing his plate on his lap.
“i think i would be able to find you anywhere.”
you didn’t let yourself read into that answer, no matter how much if made your stomach flip.
you pick around at the sandwich, peeling the crust off in little bits to eat slowly. joe watched intently for a moment before he knocked his shoulder against yours.
“talk to me. what’s going on?” his voice was so soft it instantly soothed you. it always had that effect on you.
“i’m just tired and overwhelmed. things are getting more intense.” you shrugged.
“what about this scene are you finding so difficult? we can work it out.” you wanted to hate joe. everytime he opened his mouth or he’ll, even existed, he made it more and more difficult not to love him.
and that was something you couldn’t do. and you certainly couldn’t tell him you did. so you shook your head.
“like i said, it’s just a lot. i’ll be fine after lunch and a break.”
joe frowned, unconvinced. see, what you failed to consider was that over the past however many months, joe had come to know you like the back of his hand.
joe knew you in ways your oldest friends or your family didn’t know. he knew that when you lied, your left eyebrow twitched upwards ever so slightly. he knew that when something was weighing on you, you got that far off look in your eyes and you chewed on the inside corner of your mouth.
all three of which were happening as he looked at you.
“sweetheart, you can tell me anything. you know i’m here for you. always am. i just want you to not bottle anything up that’s bothering you.” joe’s words made your eyes prickle with tears. the softness of them. the sincerity. the stupid pet name guys definitely don’t casually call their best friend slash coworker, and yet, joe had called you that from the beginning.
“fucking hell.” you mumbled as you rubbed your hands harshly down your face. “i don’t know how much longer i can keep doing this.”
joe furrowed his brows. “what? the show? acting?”
“no, joe. this. i don’t know how much longer i can be around you.”
joe’s face fell.
“what? did i do something?”
“everything, joe! that’s the problem! everything you do drives me crazy. at first i thought, surely, i only feel this way because my character is in love with yours. but that’s not true at all. and maybe i’m a horrible actress for letting the lines become blurred in my head but you’re you and you’re perfect and i just couldn’t help it!”
joe stared. mouth agape. his brows were knitted together in the way they do when he’s processing something. you knew that look, of course you did. joe wasn’t the only one who knew someone like the back of his hand.
“what exactly are you saying?” joe’s voice softened into a tone you only heard in quiet moments together. when everything was warm and soft around the edges.
“you know what i’m saying joe. and i’m sorry this happened now instead of after filming. i don’t want to make things uncomfortable or ruin our friendship but i’ll just have to deal with the consequences.”
then joe laughed. a bubble of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. he pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered idiot to himself under his breath.
you wanted to shrink away. close in on yourself and shrink away into nothingness. you rolled your eyes, mostly in effort to subtly rid the tears forming in them, then go to stand up.
but joe caught your wrist, keeping you sat next to him.
“sorry, i’m the idiot. not you. i mean, hell, do you know how many times i’ve wanted to kiss you these past few months? way too many for me not to grow some balls and do it. but i was scared.”
you could barely hear joe over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. surely, this was some kind of joke. some sick hazing prank on the newbie, month later. but the look in joe’s eyes made any doubt fade.
because you knew joe. you knew that there wasn’t a malicious bone in his body. you knew he loved and cared deeply about anyone that crossed his path. you knew the way he looked at you, that look reserved for only you. this was your joe.
so instead, you scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “yeah, you are an idiot.”
“hey! let’s not forget this is a two way street miss i’ve been in love with you for months!” joe defended with a chuckle.
“i never said that i was in love with you.”
“you kinda did.”
“not specifically.”
you watched as joe stared at you, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from lifting fondly. you couldn’t help it, that look he gave you triggered something in you and made you lower all defenses.
“i’m in love with you, joe. a ridiculous amount. so much it hurts.” your voice now came out as a whisper, almost like you were still scared to admit it. because you weren’t scared of loving joe. in fact, it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done. you were scared of the repercussions had he not felt the same, even now.
joe’s face crumpled into the softest look you’d ever seen. his hand found your cheek and cradled it gently.
“i’m in love with you too. and i’m a fool for not saying anything sooner. but you’re such an amazing woman and i didn’t want to jeopardize anything we already had. i’d rather pine after you for the rest of my life than tell you how i feel and lose you because you didn’t feel the same.”
“you could never lose me, joe.”
“i know. but the thought of it alone terrified me.” joe brushed his thumb across your cheek and you leaned into his touch.
“from now on, we don’t keep anything from each other. i’m not gonna run away from you or us.”
joe nodded his head. “deal.”
“deal.” you echoed then looked at him expectantly. “okay, you can kiss me now.”
joe laughed, the kind that made your heart feel light, then leaned in.
“i love you.” he said gently before pressing his lips to your in a long awaited kiss. but it was well worth the wait. because really, you’d wait several lifetimes just to kiss joe. you smiled into the kiss at the thought.
SHE LIVES! I've been away, cut some bitches some slack but tell a friend to tell a friend she's back!!!! at least for now, I can't make any promises but thank you for the support and love!!! I write what I'm obsessed with and sadly i've just been so busy but I was clearing out my drafts and found this. I HOPE YOU LIKE
'Who doesn't love kittens?' said Natalia. 'You, you don't like kittens?' she said, looking toward you.
You sat between Maya and your boyfriend Joe, the four of you sitting, waiting for kittens to come bouncing in, supplied by Buzzfeed. 'I don't not like kittens.'
Joe was looking at you, a knee pulled up to his chest. 'You're a dog person.'
'Kittens are nice,' you said.
'But you prefer dogs?' says Joe, as if he doesn't already know the answer. As if he hasn't been begging to share a dog with you like some kind or parent trap thing.
'I do- I do prefer dogs.'
Joe looked ahead, sort of to the camera and crew with a proud tilt of his lips as if proving a point.
'I mean hey, kittens are kittens, they're great-' you carried on, jumping on your own defence as you watched Natalia watch you try to get out of it. 'But I'm just, I never-'
'You've never had a cat?' asked Joe, confirming it.
You shake your head. 'Never had a cat.'
'You're a dog person,' said Joe.
'Yeah!'
Slowly the kittens started to be introduced into the set, the four of you distracted by their cuteness as they occupied the room in fur and meows but Joe had looked to the crew, almost past the camera's, reinforcing the fact you were, indeed, not a cat person.
His smile was bright and all knowing. 'She's such a dog person.'
But for the whole interview Joe watched you play with kittens and even as one climbed up his own lap and started nipping at his skin.
'They're tiny, oh my god they're so small,' Maya cooed as the kittens got closer to them.
After the kittens were situated the questions started rolling in. Questions like what props did you steal from set?
'I didn't steal anything,' you admitted while holding a kitten close to your chest.
Joe's neck snapped toward you. 'What, yes you did!'
You looked over at him, the camera's zoomed on your confusion. 'What, no I didn't. Did I?'
'Yeah, we- you took like, loads of clothes,' he chuckled, jogging your own memory as he fed his favoured kitten a finger to chew on.
Charlie was down the other end, laughing at the pair of you.
'Wh- oh yeah but that wasn't stealing, not really, they let us in,' you looked from Joe to the camera's, going back and forth between the two as you told the story. 'There's like this massive warehouse of costumes and clothes and stuff and toward the end they let us go in and basically go shopping.'
'Yeah that's what I meant,' said Joe.
'But that's not stealing, they let us,' you said, sharing a knowing smile with him, until Joe jerked, lifting his arm with the cats teeth sunk in.
'What- oh, this cat's just eating me!'
'So I've kind of grown up with Stranger things, since I was sixteen,' said the lady interviewing you as you sat between Joe and Charlie, Natalia on the other end. 'So I was wondering what's something you guys have felt like you've grown up with?'
'That's a good question,' said Joe, head leant on his hand while his other arm was thrown over the back of the couch, occasionally falling on your shoulder.
There was a pink care bare sat in your lap, one that Joe had put there and smiled at.
'Probably, like, Harry Potter,' said Natalia.
Charlie nodded. 'Yeah, we were like, what? Ten-nine.'
'Yeah kinda similar age to them,' said Natalia.
Joe gestured between the two of you, you and Natalia. 'You guys, didn't you do a Harry Potter re-watch not to long ago?'
You grinned at him and the fact he remembered when him and Charlie had been doing up his garden in Atlanta while you and Natalia had found a channel that played all Harry Potter movies.
Natalia smiled. 'Yeah, we did.'
'We did, yeah, that was fun,' you said. 'I'm trying to think... what else we grew up with?'
'Maybe like- band wise- the Arctic Monkeys for me,' said Charlie, looking to you for confirmation. 'We talked about that.'
'We did, yeah, I love them,' you agreed.
'Sort of discovering them from the years twelve to like... seventeen and just being- woah. And their haircuts to! Always trying to copy it.'
'That's like a canon event, discovering them,' said the interviewer.
'Yeah really is,' you nodded.
'For me I was like that but with the Strokes,' said Joe.
Your body instantly curled into his, sharing a knowing grin. 'You're such a Strokes guy.'
He chuckled, eyes brightening with yours. 'I am. I know.'
'Ok, let's call,' said Gaten as he scrolled through contacts on his phone. 'Let's phone y/n, but lets do it on your phone.'
Joe almost wondered why but didn't question it. He got his phone out to accommodate to the sitting or standing game they were playing on Radio one. To be honest, he was looking at any excuse to get to talk to you- especially when he knew the both of you were on your own press.
'y/n, lovely, lovely, do we think sitting or standing?' asked Greg, the host of the radio.
'I think standing,' said Gaten.
Joe shook his head slightly as he got up your number, staring at the picture he had of you and the heart next to the name 'baby'.
'What's the picture?' asked Gaten, peeking over his shoulder.
Joe tilted it to him and Gaten smiled. It was 0.5 you begged him to take of you only for you to set it as his own background picture of your contact name. It was taken in Boston and in the back was a reflective window where the camera caught Joe and his smile.
Gaten shook his head with affection. 'Adorable.'
'Okay so you're saying standing,' Greg affirmed with Gaten. 'And Joe- you're saying sitting.'
'I'm saying sitting-I feel bad for saying sitting, like I'm calling people lazy. Okay, let's call.'
Joe pressed your name and waited, setting the phone down.
It rang, though Joe knew you might just be in press with Charlie, doing interviews and all things like he was.
'It's very revealing this game,' said Gaten with a chuckle as they waited.
You answered. 'I was just talking about you.'
Though it was radio the camera's around the two picked up on the blush that sprung to Joe's cheeks.
'Oh well thank you, but I need to ask you something. Okay? Are you sitting or standing?'
There was a pause and a laugh on the other end that had Joe smiling brightly.
'Is there a right answer to this?' you teased.
'No,' he laughed.
'Then I am sitting.'
'No!' Gaten yelled, throwing his headphones off.
Joe slid his sunglasses on in triumph as Greg celebrated. 'Thanks, baby.'
Gaten loomed over Joe's phone. 'y/n, how could you?'
There was a chuckle. 'Hey Gaten, how you doing?'
'I'm good, how are you?' he asked casually as if he wasn't just throwing a fit. 'Your boyfriend got it right, how is that fair?'
'I dunno, ask him.'
'Hello, y/n, you're on the bbc one radio show, how are you? what are you up to?' asked Greg.
'Oh hi, I wondered why I was asked if I was sitting or standing?' you joked causing them to laugh. 'I'm good, I've been in press but Charlie, Natalia and I are on a break right now, by the way, Joe you need to be here in like ten minutes.'
Joe went from laughing to confused. 'Wait- what?'
'Obviously music is a big part of the show, we love it, a very big moment was when Kate Bush got back up to number one obviously through her song in the show,' said the gentleman interviewing you, Joe, Charlie, Natalia and Jaimie. 'So the question is what song would each of you have to chose to save you from Vecna.'
'Yeah, pick carefully guys,' Jaimie joked, eagerly awaiting your answers.
You turned to him from your spot on the sofa next to Joe, the two of you having it to yourself. 'I feel you, Joanna-'
'Oh fuck off.'
The room chuckled as you smiled like a winner at Joe.
'That's a good question,' said Joe, throwing his arm around the back of the shoulder and resting into you. He spoke to you, the mic held up to him. 'Cause it's a song you'd have to listen to over and over again so you gotta take that into account- I know what yours would be.'
You rose your brows. 'You know what mine would be? I don't even know what mine would be, what is it?'
Joe answered with the rest of the cast. 'ABBA'
'Oh yeah,' you laughed, your body on instinct leaning into him.
'What do you mean you don't know?' Joe teased, wild with laughter. 'It's your favourite.'
'It is, it is.'
'Mine would probably be ABBA too,' said Natalia.
The two of you faced each other.
'But which one forever?'
'Chiquita? Perhaps?' Joe teased for Natalia before he faced you again, a hand on your knee. 'You love, what's the one you love?'
You thought. 'I love all of them.'
'Is it Knowing me, knowing you?' he asked.
'Yeah- that probably would be my favourite, woah,' you looked at Joe who simply shrugged his shoulders in success. 'You know me better than I know myself.'
'Someone just got brownie points,' joked the interviewer.
You and Joe laughed as Joe made a motion to fist bump the air at his so called 'points'.
Joe settled further into the sofa, looking at you with a small bite to his lips and waiting. 'What do you think mine would be? C'mon I wanna know, what do you think?'
'Oh god,' you groaned, leaning back and slightly into him. 'I dunno, you like so much. Can I not just say like, one of your own songs?'
Joe shook his head with a love sick grin. 'Listen to myself for the rest of my life, god no.'
His reaction got a laugh from the cast.
You were still thinking. 'I mean- I wanna say- cause we were just talking about it, something from the Strokes?'
Joe then had to think about it, all the while you teased him about the question not being as easy as first thought. 'Yeah, probably-'
'Or Springsteen. You're a Bruce kinda guy,' you added.
'Yeah,' he agreed, slowly nodding his head and watching you. With a look like that it seemed Joe would have gone with whatever you would have said.
And the rest of the cast knew it to.
' So what are your guys favourite British snack?' Claire Rowden, the interviewer asked.
She was sitting in front of Georgina Campbell, a British lady and Joe Keery who, though while not British had a British girlfriend of three years. It was only right he be tried as an honouree brit. He could have a cup of tea before he went to bed, he could complain about the weather and had watched all episodes of Gavin and Stacey at your insistence.
But his favourite Brit snack? He was trying to come up with an answer you'd be proud of.
' Well tea cakes are different in America than they are here,' said Georgina while Joe nodded in agreement. ' Are you talking about the tea cake that's like currents and a bun?'
' Yes, but there's also the teacakes with chocolate and marshmellow.'
' Oh yeah, there is a chocolate and a marshmallow.'
Joe continued to nod like he knew either of those things. He tried to think back to your London house and what he could find in there. His mind running a blank.
' Is that what it is here?'
' No,' said Joe. ' I think for in the States, people are niave to teacakes, people don't really know what they are.'
His co-star peered at him. ' Do you know what they are?'
' I'm speaking for myself here,' he said, laughing with Georgina. ' My girlfriend's gonna kill me, let's move to a- something I might know!'
' Something else, please!'
Joe tried to think, knowing you would see this and say you haven't done your job as his brit girlfriend well enough. ' No, what are those British little cookies- she always has them- name some of them off,' he begged.
' Like a bourbon?'
' No.'
' Jammy dodger?'
' No, not that one.'
' Custard Cream?'
Joe lit up. ' That one! I've had that, my girlfriend, she loves them, yeah. Those are great.'
' What about a Percy Pig?' asked Claire.
' I love Percy Pigs,' said Georgina. ' I brought some back actually for a friend over here and she didn't like them!'
' Wait a second, I know these, I know these. These are those Marks things right?' asked Joe, using every trick in his book.
Georgina looked to him, astounded for a moment. ' Oh my god, I love that you call it Marks.'
Joe laughed at himself. ' That's what it is, right? Marks, or is it Sparks?' he asked.
' I love this,' said their interviewer, admiring his British slang and knowledge. ' Marks and Spencers, yes!'
' Marks and Spencers, that's it,' he said with a click of his fingers. ' I do know- I do know Percy pigs but we are a Colin kinda household.'
series summary: you are an assigned to Joe keery and his band during Lollapalooza Argentina. What begins as a professional job quickly turns into a slow-burn romance, as you show them the real side of the city. Throughout it all, teasing banter, lingering touches, and stolen glances build a growing attraction that neither of you can ignore.
chapter warnings: slow burn, small flirting, language, fluff, idiots in love, fem!reader, friends to lovers (beginning stages), heavy tension, lingering eye contact, light physical contact, building attraction, lap sitting, casual flirting.
wc: 2.5k
author's note: chapter two finally posted even if i had it already written :) hope u guys enjoy it. lmk if u want to be tagged in the taglist by replying here or in the masterlist
series masterlist / spotify playlist soon
Chapter 2
The second day started with a low tension that still stuck to your chest at night in the bar.
You arrived at the hotel a little before noon, the boys probably had breakfast and were waiting for you, so you rushed as much as possible.
The first thing that happened as soon as you arrived was that the boys received you with two kisses as a greeting, which they seemed to have learned in the last few hours since they had arrived.
You were a little surprised when it first came by Joe, who put his hand on your back bringing his cheek closer to yours, and you were so surprised that your cheeks blushed.
'Do you guys have any idea where you want to go today, or do you trust my decisions blindly?' you asked when you parted from the other hugs.
They looked at you for a moment, seeing who would speak first. So the first to speak was Javi.
"Take us to somewhere useful," he said, taking off his cap. "We’ve been talking and need new clothes for at least the sideshow. Some new t-shirts, maybe a jacket or two. I thought maybe you knew a place where we wouldn’t be mobbed and things looked really good."
You nodded slowly, already thinking.
"I know a vintage house on the Palermo and I think it’s perfect for stage shit."
"Sold," Joe said immediately. The others agreed without much argument.
You called a taxi to make the trip more covertly. And as soon as it arrived; Wes and Javi started to jump in like a race. Although it didn’t make sense, because everyone knew the front seat would be for the manager.
The rest of the team took another taxi.
"Shotgun!" Wes shouted, claiming the front seat even though no one listened to him.
You and Joe stood on the sidewalk by the second cab. Joe looked at the car, then at you, already smiling as if he knew what was coming.
Wes rolled down the window from the first taxi and yelled back, grinning. “You two figure it out!”
Joe turned to the group with a raised eyebrow, his voice was loud enough for everyone to hear but still casual.
“Wait, you guys are really not gonna let her sit comfortably? There’s three of us. One of you lazy fucks can squeeze or take another, or even sit in my lap.” Wes leaned out further, laughing.
“Hell no. I’m not sitting on anyone’s lap. My legs are too long anyway.”
“Yeah, man. I’m not doing it either.’’ Now Javi talked again while he sat inside the car. “Dude, she’s smaller. It makes more sense if she just sits on you. We’re not moving.”
Joe shook his head. “You’re all seriously gonna make her sit on my lap because you’re too lazy to share properly? She’s our guide, not some furniture.”
“Exactly. She’s the professional here. She can handle it. I’m sure she trusts you enough.” Wes shrugged dramatically.
“Come on, Joe. Stop being dramatic. It’s just a short ride’’ Javi laughed louder. Joe glanced at you, his eyes were sparkling with amusement.
“Are you hearing this shit?”
“Oh yeah– I am.” you crossed your arms, trying not to smile.
The first taxi driver honked impatiently. Joe looked at you again while his voice was dropping just for you.
“Are you okay with this? I don’t want you feeling weird.” He said. You shrugged, keeping it light even though your pulse had already kicked up.
“I’ve dealt with worse. Let’s just go before they leave us here.” Joe exhaled, still pretending to be annoyed at the band.
He slid into the backseat first. You followed without making a big deal about it, climbing straight onto his lap, then you adjusted your legs draped across his thighs. The door clicked shut.
Joe’s hands came up immediately: one landing lightly on your hip and the other resting on the top of your thigh. The contact was warm and constant and in every small bump in the road, he pressed you closer against him.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked softly, so the driver wouldn’t hear it.
You looked down at him, faces close enough that you could see the mustache and the green in his eyes catching the passing light.
“At least– you’re comfortable.”
He laughed softly, the sound vibrating through his chest into your leg.
“High praise.” the taxi merged into Palermo and every bump in the road jostled you against him.
His hand on your hip tightened just a fraction when the driver hit a pothole, fingers spreading slightly like he was making sure you didn’t slide off.
“Are you always this bossy about taxis?” he murmured, thumb brushing with a small absent circle on the side of your thigh through your jeans.
“Sometimes.” you shifted your weight deliberately, settling more fully onto his lap. “Besides, you don’t seem to mind.”
His eyes flicked up to yours.
“I don’t.”
The car stopped. You were hyperconscious of each point of contact and his beanie was slightly twisted by the movement, with some curls escaping from the nape.
You raised your hand without thinking and you pointed it.
"This again. It’s like twenty degrees outside and you’re dressed for winter
"It’s a habit. Hides the hair when it’s messy."
"Messy looks better," you said lightly, but your voice sounded a bit lower than you wanted. "You must be dying of heat."
He smiled, his hand still on your hip. ‘’Is it part of your job to be a fashion consultant and hairdresser, or do you just offer to do my hair too?"
"Maybe."
The air in the backseat became thicker with things unsaid. When the taxi finally stopped in front of the shop, you slowly got off his lap.
Joe’s hands were on your waist for a second longer than necessary to help you. On the sidewalk, he adjusted his beanie but didn’t take it off completely.
"We need something different."
Inside the store, the shelves were filled with jackets, shirts, and camouflaged pieces.
The boys dispersed quickly, but before that, they showed up with the store owner, who seemed quite happy with the boys' presence.
You translated the entire conversation for them, doing your job, and then Joe stopped at a military-style shirt shelf and pulled out an olive green t-shirt with striking white letters on the chest: BUENOS AIRES and some other words.
He held her against his body and turned to you and the boys.
"What do you guys think? For the show?"
"It looks good. The graphic is strong, it will stand out under the lights. And there’s something about Argentina there, people will like it." said Wes as he looked over the other clothes.
"Much better than the winter clothes you have. Seriously, Joe– beanie and jacket in this weather? You are going to melt on stage." you laughed in a low, warm voice.
"You’re really on my ass about the layers."
"Because it’s ridiculous." you crossed your arms with a sarcastic smile."At least take off the jacket or the beanie while we’re inside. One of them– for my sanity."
He ended up buying that military shirt and some other things. While he was paying, you were waiting near the door.
When he came out with the bag, he stopped right in front of you and took off his hat dramatically, putting it in his jacket pocket. His hair was messy and slightly damp.
"Better?" he asked, touching it a little bit. You nodded slightly.
"The jacket is still on the list." you were going to talk again until the boys did it first.
"Food," Wes declared immediately, throwing his new jacket over his shoulder. "I’m starving. I need real food." Javi nodded his head, already checking his phone.
‘’Yes, something local. I want what normal people eat around here." you checked the time and pointed down a quieter side street.
“There’s a small place two blocks away. Nothing fancy, just good grilled meat, decent wine, and locals eating there. Sounds good?”
“Yeah. Sounds perfect.” Joe said.
The walk was short and relaxed. Wes and Javi kept the energy high the whole way, bouncing off each other like always.
Wes walked backwards, facing the group. “Okay, real question— how do we not embarrass ourselves ordering in Spanish?”
Javi laughed and shoved him lightly. “Just let her order and we’ll point at stuff.”
Joe walked beside you, quieter than the other two but clearly listening. Every now and then his shoulder would brush yours when the sidewalk narrowed, but he didn’t make a big deal out of it.
Wes turned to you.
“What’s the move? Should we just say ‘bring us this’ or is there a smart way to do this?” you smiled.
“I’ll order.” Wes grinned.
“Bring it. I’ll try anything. Except all this sitting on someone’s lap in a taxi thing. That job is officially Joe’s from now on.”
Joe shook his head with a small laugh.
“You two are never going to drop that, huh?”
Javi smirked. “Never. You handled it like good though. Very professional.”
The restaurant appeared at the corner: modest front, faded sign, wooden tables with red-and-white checkered cloths, and the smoky scent drifting out.
Only half the tables were taken — mostly locals talking loudly. The grill was visible at the back, an older man flipping cuts of meat over wood flames.
You greeted the waiter and got a big table near the back, away from the windows for a bit more privacy.
Once seated, Wes immediately grabbed the menu even though it was in Spanish.
“Alright, translate everything. I want to know what I’m getting.”
The meal passed comfortably; plates coming and going, wine, stories and the table getting louder as the bottle emptied.
As you stepped out onto the sidewalk, the late afternoon light hit differently. A small group of fans —about two girls— had somehow spotted the band. They were waiting politely near the door, phones already out, a couple of them holding signs and small gifts.
The fans were excited but respectful: no screaming, just nervous energy and quick Spanish mixed with English.
“Can we get a photo?” one of them asked shyly, stepping forward.
You glanced at Joe and the band, checking if they were okay with it. Joe gave a small nod.
“Sure,” he said with a calm voice.
The next few minutes turned into a quick photo session right there on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Wes and Javi jumped in immediately posing with their arms around the fans.
One girl handed Javi a small gift she had made; he took it with a big grin and immediately posed for a selfie with her.
After a few more individual photos and some quick hugs, the fans dispersed happily, already checking the pictures on their phones and waving as they walked away.
Wes exhaled dramatically once they were gone.
“That was cute. But I’m officially tired now.”
“They were sweet. One of them came just for tomorrow. Wild.” Javi was still grinning.
The Boca match happened the same afternoon. You had pulled strings the night before at Uptown and again after the restaurant lunch, calling in every favor you had with the Boca press office. Four tickets.
Production almost had a heart attack when you told them, but you promised you could handle the chaos.
Wes kept saying “this is gonna be insane,” Javi was already practicing for his screams and Joe… Joe was quieter, but you could see the curiosity in his eyes every time he looked at you.
You snuck them out of the hotel the same way as always — service exit, quick sprint through the kitchens, tinted van waiting in the alley.
This time there were already a few fans lingering near the hotel, so the adrenaline was real.
Joe ended up right behind you in the van, his knee brushing yours the entire ride to the match.
He didn’t say much, but every time the van hit a bump he steadied you with a light hand on your arm.
La Bombonera rose up like a blue-and-yellow beast as you approached.
The streets were already packed — flags everywhere, drums echoing off the buildings, the smell of cheap beer mixing with cigarette smoke.
You led them through a side gate production had cleared, but once inside the popular stands it was pure madness: concrete stairs steep as hell, bodies pressed tight, the roar hitting you like a wall the second you stepped into the light.
You found your spots halfway up— perfect view of the pitch, right in the middle of the singing section. The air was electric even before kickoff.
Wes’s eyes were huge.
“Holy fuck. This is louder than any show we’ve ever played.”
You laughed and corrected his pronunciation, leaning in so they could all hear you over the noise. Joe stood right beside you, shoulder to shoulder and beanie on again.
While the crowd continued singing in the stands and the stadium vibrated, a reporter from Boca Juniors' sports channel approached with a camera for a quick mini-interview.
The reporter asked him about the experience. Joe, still buzzing from the match, answered with complete honesty:
“Joe, thank you for being here. I think it's your first time in Argentina, so welcome.”
“Thank you very much for having me. Yes, thank you.”
“Okay. Well, you've just lived like the first half of the match. Do you think like La Bonbonera is like rock… a rock concert?”
“It does make me feel like that. I don't think I've ever been in a sports atmosphere that is as electric. It feels almost like church or something. Everybody's singing, everybody's participating. It's amazing. Yeah, it would be amazing to be up there in the singing section.”
‘’Of course, you have a show tomorrow and it's sold out. So the crowd will be amazing.’’
‘’Yeah, we've been getting hyped up about all the fans and being at this event has made me even more excited to see the crowd and play the show. Very excited.’’
You let the interview finish, staying to one side and watching him as he answered each question with subtle strategy and calm.
Joe adjusted the bag on his shoulder and started walking next to you as the group headed toward the main street to catch taxis back to the hotel.
He didn’t say anything right away, but when the others were a few steps ahead he spoke quietly.
“Thanks for handling that smoothly,” he said. “Didn’t expect fans outside the restaurant.”
You shrugged.
“It happens. You guys were good with them.”
“Still glad you were there.” he gave a small smile while his eyes flicked to you for a moment.
The afternoon became long —shopping, the restaurant, and those unexpected photos— but it felt good. Back at the hotel, everyone split off to rest before the next day.
As Joe headed towards the back door of the hotel, he looked back once with that half-smile on his face he used to have.
After a trigger sets you off, all you want to do is pick a fight with Joe.
Word count: 1,309
Masterlist.
Request.
Warnings: Angst, emotional turmoil, anger, mentions of trauma albeit vague. A small bit of this could be interpreted as self harm even though that was not its purpose. DNI if this triggers you.
Hot. Fire. Pulsing. Red. Destruction. Fast. All consuming.
Angry. Livid. Destructive. Seething.
At the world. At yourself. At any inanimate object that stood in your way. At any loved one trying to get close.
It doesn't matter what set it off. It doesn't matter what caused the accumulation of absolute devastation. It was here, and it wanted to burst out of you like a flame to fuel.
You weren't expecting anyone to be home. Joe had left to catch brunch with friends. You counted on having the place to yourself to let the fire die out.
Mistake.
He was home.
You'd clocked his shoes in their original position near the front door. His coat hung still, untouched since the night before.
His keys laid there, in the little ceramic pot one of his sisters made for you.
He was home. And for the first time. You didn't want him to be.
It fueled the fire. The flames shooting through the roof. Fueled by the oxygen you otherwise lived for. Craved.
You threw your keys next to his. The clanging echoing through the quiet apartment. The door shut tight with an unusually loud bang. Too loud. You knew that soon, he'd be running to the cause of the disturbance. You knew he'd find you, and his entire being would soften. You didn't want soft. You didn't want his voice to melt into the comfort he usually offered when you were feeling down.
You wanted to meet your match.
Approximately 20 second passed while you hung your coat and put your bag away.
"Babe?"
His head peaked out from around the corner. You spared him no glance.
"What's wrong?"
He didn't even need to ask if you were okay. It was clear as day that you weren't.
"Not now Joe."
Cold. Yet filled with fire. An odd combination.
He took a step back, surprised by the tone.
"You know you can tell me right."
"Yes Joe I know. But I don't want to. You weren't even gonna be here."
He squinted at that. A new development he'd dreaded since the start of your relationship.
"I'm sorry, the guys cancelled."
"They shouldn't have."
"Well what do you want me to do about that."
"Leave."
He scoffed.
"I'm not gonna leave my own apartment because me being here doesn't fit your schedule."
He cringed. It came out harsher than he intended. He didn't want to fight. It was clear you were struggling with something and he'd taken the bait. He personally delivered the lighter to the fuel, on a silver platter.
You looked up, seething.
"Fine. I'll leave."
You didn't even bother reaching for your coat or purse. You grabbed your keys and took a couple steps to the front door.
As your hand touched the knob, a hand slammed the door. Next to your head. You knew it wasn't aggression. It was haste. He didn't want you to leave. Not like this. Not where he couldn't reach you.
"Can we just talk about this like adults?"
His breath tickled the nape of your neck. Impossibly close. Trying to defuse the situation.
"Bold of you to assume you have the capacity to do so."
At that, he snapped. You wanted hell, he'd give you hell.
In a split second he grabbed your shoulder and turned around, making you face him.
"What is wrong with you!" His voice heightened, but still kept the volume in check. As long as he had an ounce of self control, he wouldn't yell. Not at you.
"I don't know Joe, make a list and get back to me."
He looked up to the ceiling. Very close to losing his temper. He didn't understand, you'd been fine that morning.
"Let me go."
Without realizing it, he took a step back, heeding your call.
"Why do you push me away."
His voice seemed smaller now, head bent but still raking over your body. Everything about you screamed distress.
"You can't push someone away that's never there Joe."
That one. Now that one stung and you knew it. You knew it was unfair. You knew he was doing the best he could. It was a low blow, but you were looking for a fight to extinguish the flames. You'd deal with the ashes later.
It had the opposite effect.
"That's not fair." You could see the hurt in his eyes, the way his expression tugged at your heart strings. It hurt you, you didn't want this kind of hurt. You wanted him to yell.
"I agree." You challenged him, looking him dead in the eyes.
He gave you nothing. He just stood there. He knew deep inside what you were looking for. Action reaction. He knew you didn't mean it. It didn't mean it hurt less, but he could deal with it. You needed this. He wasn't willing to give it though.
The second you realized he wasn't going to entertain your anger, you pushed his chest. Not hard. Just unexpected. Maybe you could get a reaction that way.
"Are you just gonna stand there like a lost puppy Joe?"
No response.
You pushed at his chest again. Harder this time but nowhere near hard enough to hurt him. All you aimed at was being the sticky gum to the bottom of his shoe, annoying. All you wanted was for him to snap.
"Can you stop."
It came out low. He was still in control. Still the sensible one in this situation.
"Why do you want me to stop Joe? You don't like hearing the truth?" This wasn't you. This was so far removed from you, but you were too far gone. Too far gone to keep the horrible words at bay.
Where you pushed him, he pulled away. He wasn't doing this. He knew if he took the bait, you'd hurt more. You'd feel worse.
You shoved at his chest again, but this time your hands stayed. Clutching his shirt like it was your personal enemy. You didn't want to hurt him.
You took your hands off of him and directed the destruction at yourself. In a split second your hands were in your hair. Pulling at the roots while you threw a whole bunch of nonsense at him. Making grand gestures walking in circles. You weren't even talking to him anymore, you were just ranting, letting the fire blaze unrestrictedly.
He was observing you, reading between the lines of the words you were spewing. It started making sense. Past trauma. Trigger. Reaction.
You were hurting.
He moved forward again, cautiously putting his hands up. "Baby, stop." A tenderness you'd rarely heard. Not just from Joe, but in your life. It made you halt. The flames retreating like a cold front had just entered their vicinity.
"Stop," He said again, more mellow this time. "You're hurting yourself."
You didn't even realize what you were doing before Joe delicately took the hand grasping at your roots. You hadn't felt it.
His fingers skimmed your arm while he pulled you back into your body. Soft. Slow. Attentive.
You locked eyes and something in you broke. The child in you that he made feel safe. That he brought out of you again after so many years. The child that took one look into those beautiful brow eyes and felt whole again.
He swallowed loudly when he saw your eyes become glassy and he didn't think twice. His other hand moved behind your head, softly caressing as he pushed you closer to him. You let him. The place on his chest that at first had become your point of contact to pull him into battle, now became your safe haven. His heartbeat was faster than usual, yet consistent. Steady. Always there. A lifeline.
You stood there, head on his chest. One hand on your head, the other stroking your back.
Hi I was wondering if you could do a Joe Keery x reader where she tells him shes pregnant while on tour and she tells him in a cute way and its very sweet and fluffy and his friends are excited and happy for them. 💖
And then there were three
Summary: Reader is pregnant who has planned to tell Joe about the pregnancy after his final performance at Glastonbury.
A/N: Tysm for the ask!! Loved this fluffy idea! Needed some fluff after seeing Joe cry at Glasto! Fluff with smut intentions but NO smut!
Pls reblog or like to support me, tysm!
You were nervous to tell Joe about you pregnancy, managing to hide it from had proven difficult but whilst he had been touring you were finding it easier.
Since you hadn’t been with him for the whole tour, he didn’t notice a difference in your weight or temperament.
The group were ending their Europe/UK tour, his last performance was at Glastonbury festival in the UK. You had watched performance backstage for both the supporting act event and the festival.
You cried as you watched him, clutching your stomach in support. You were wearing a white and pink dress, the heat had been getting to you so you waved the small electric fan across your face and body.
When Joe finished had performed on the Glastonbury stage, he ran towards you. Picking you up and twirling you, kissing every part of you.
Sweat stuck your bodies together making you laugh at the squealing sounds, your boobs were crushed against his chest. Bigger and veiner than a few months ago.
He watched as they bounced when he put you down, his eyes widened.
“Your boobs are so big” he groaned, whispering closer to you.
You blushed and smiled at his sort of compliment, looking around to see if anyone heard you. Thankfully it was just you both.
He continued to compliment and kiss you until the team called him over, the rest of the group joined you whilst Joe readied himself to leave.
The rest of group decided to explore the festival for a bit longer, you stuck with them for as long as you could handle before tugging on Joe’s arm.
It was hot and sticky, your feet ached and you felt nauseous. You had planned a romantic evening to inform Joe of your pregnancy but it got later and later.
Rather than stay on site at the festival, you had been booked into a hotel. At this moment, you were very thankful about the fact.
The pregnancy test was hidden in a box closed with a yellow ribbon, inside were two clear blue pregnancy tests, a baby toy and a small babygrow with the words “Hello Daddy” on it.
You and Joe weren’t planning on having a baby but it was discussed at length and when you found out you were pregnant. You were nervous but excited. With you not being married to Joe, you knew that a few of your family members would have an issue with it but at this moment you didn’t care.
All you wanted was this baby with Joe and so his opinions was the most important.
Sweat dripped off your forehead as you looked him, holding the box behind your back until you felt the right time.
Once Joe had settled down into bed, the television playing some late night show. You told him to close his eyes before presenting the box in his hands, his eyebrows pinched as he undid the bow.
Upon opening the box, he didn’t say a word. Feeling over the contents with free his hand, you were suddenly nervous again at the silence.
“Joe? Say something please” you said, looking from him down to the box.
You were worried that it was too much for him after finishing the performances over the last few days, shifting on your feet as you waited.
He placed the box to the side of him and took you in his arms, kissing you softly before deciding to speak.
“Hello little one” he said into your stomach, making you laugh.
He stood back up to kiss you once more before letting you go to look at the contents of the box. Holding it to your stomach, his eyes twinkling with excitement.
“And then there were three” you said smiling against his lips.
You slept close to him with his hand intwined onto your stomach, you were excited for the baby to grow with you both.
In the morning, Joe ‘helped’ you change as he kissed your stomach and thighs. Desperately wanting to do more than that, you reminded him of the breakfast meet up.
He sighed but followed you out of the hotel, you met up with the group at a small local cafe. Joe had slept better than a few nights ago, his voice was hoarse from performing.
After the food had been ordered and the drinks were in front of you all, Joe couldn’t hold it in any longer. His hand tightened around yours, his legs bouncing with excitement.
“So, we have something to tell you guys” he said, looking at you with reassurance.
“Im having a baby” you said, grinning from ear to ear.
They all wished their congratulations and excitement, making jokes about Joe touring with a baby.
You looked at Joe as he talked with the group, he was the happiest you had seen him. He was glowing more than you were, his hand was squeezing yours under the table.
He leant over and pecked your cheek as the food arrived, he continued to talk but take time to acknowledge you.
They discussed the rest of the tours and whether they would get to go home, you were both apprehensive about telling both your parents.
You didn’t tell yours officially, though your mother had her suspicions. You had chosen to tell Joe first, you wanted his opinions on the pregnancy and you were happy that he wanted it as well.
Rubbing your stomach after the plates were taken away, you were carrying the next Keery baby. Joe constantly checked up on you for the rest of the evening, ensuring that everything was right for you.
It was a new side to him, he was already very caring and attentive to your needs but this was different. It was about more than just you both now and the reality was slowly setting in for him.
He drank herbal tea or soft drinks with you when the rest of the group ordered alcohol despite your moaning. He didn’t want you to feel left out and you told him more than once that he couldn’t do this the whole pregnancy.
The group teased him about it until he gave in and had one beer, enjoying the last of your time within the UK before travelling back home together for the rest for the tour.
You were most nervous to tell his parents but you knew that they would expecting. Joe would be there with you.
They toasted to the new baby for the rest of the night, you disappeared back to the room a while ago. When he snuck in later on, his hands found your stomach and he fell asleep curled up close to you.
Summary: time for the birthday boy to unwrap his present - except the present spent all night unwrapping him first.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, orgasm denial/edging, power dynamics, unprotected p n v, creampie, brief degradation ("pretty boy," "good boy"), public teasing, alcohol, crying during sex, dom/sub switch, stilettos are weapons and should be used as such.
A/N: tell a friend to tell a friend.... she's backkkkk.... So late for his "birthday" or maybe I'm on time. Who knows.
Word Counter: 4,231 of pure smut baby
The Uber ride home was a complete blur between the amber streetlights that smeared across the window and Joe’s hand gripping your thigh too hard, his thumb was rubbing these restless, desperate circles against the inside of your knee. He’s still in the suit - that charcoal grey, perfectly tailored one you’d picked out for him in the morning as you watched him fasten piece by piece with the quiet authority of a woman who already knew exactly how the night would end. You’d had dinner at the little French place downtown with friends, clinking glasses of champagne and pretending you weren’t slowly sliding your stiletto heel off under the table so you could run your bare foot up the seam of his dress pants, your hand on his thigh pressing right where you could feel he was already getting thick for you.
You’d leaned into his ear while the waiter innocently poured more wine, your breath was hot against his jaw, you'd whispered something filthy about the tie he was wearing. Something about making use of it later to bind his wrists together. He’d gone perfectly still, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard, and you’d sat back with an cocky smile, buttering your bread like you hadn’t just unraveled him in front of twelve other people.
At the bar after, you’d danced with him pressed close, your back against his chest, grinding deliberately slow and to music that didn’t warrant it. Your hand had reached back, found him already half-hard through the expensive fabric, and you’d squeezed once - just once - before pulling away to the bar for another round. He’d chased you with his eyes all night, pupils blown wide, dark and drunk on you more than the whiskey he was favoring. And you’d let him look. Let him watch the way your hips moved in your dress, the way your legs looked endless in those fucking heels, the way you knew exactly what you were doing to him.
Now, in the hallway leading to your shared apartment, he’s fumbling with his keys. You're leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, one leg crossed over the other so the black stiletto dangles precariously from your toes before you flex your foot and settle it back on the floor with a sharp click that echo's. You watch the way the suit jacket strains across his shoulders when he hunches forward. The tie is already loosened, hanging crooked and you're already thinking about 500 different ways to wreck him.
“Having trouble, birthday boy?” you ask, voice dripping with honey.
He looks over his shoulder at you, and the desire on his face is almost obscene. “You know what you did to me all night,” he says, and it comes out rough like gravel, a little slurred at the end, vulnerable in that way he only gets when he’s had just enough to drink to drop the last of his social charm. “Teasin’ me in front of everyone. You’re fucking evil.”
You push off the doorframe and take a step closer, which is close enough that your chest brushes against his back. Your hands slide around his waist, finding the buckle of his belt, toying with it. The heel of your stiletto drags lightly against the hardwood floor, a deliberate, scraping sound that makes him shiver against you. “Evil? I was just celebrating my favorite person.” You press a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Now open the door before I make you fuck me in the hallway.”
He groans, head dropping back, and finally manages to get the key in the lock.
The apartment is dark except for that same glow from the uber filtering through the windows. You don’t bother to turn on the lights. You push him through the door before pulling it closed behind you - the thud echoes - and turn to face him, walking backward toward the bedroom with deliberate, unhurried steps. The heels make you taller, your posture is perfect, your legs look like they go on forever. You know he’s staring at the way the lace of your dress hitches up with each step, at the flash of your inner thighs, at the sway of your hips.
“Stay there,” you say, holding up a finger. “Don’t move. Don’t touch yourself. I’ll be right back.”
Joe freezes in the middle of the living room like you’ve told him to stop breathing, his chest has stopped heaving, his hands hanging at his sides. You can see the strain in his pants from here. Good.
In the bedroom, you strip out of the black cocktail dress, taking your time. You don’t take off the heels. That was all part of the look. The black patent leather stilettos stay strapped to your feet, four inches of power, making your calves flex and your ass sit higher. You spritz a little perfume on your wrists, on your throat. Then you pull out the set you bought three days ago - the one you’ve been hiding in the back of your lingerie drawer, waiting, patientely for tonight.
They were made of champagne-colored lace. Delicate, barely-there. The bra pushes you up perfectly, the cups sheer are enough that he’ll be able to see how hard your nipples already are. The panties sit low on your hips, and at the center of the waistband - exactly where his eyes will go first - is a tiny, satin bow. You look at yourself in the mirror and smile. The heels make it lethal. You look like a gift he hasn’t earned yet.
You walk back out exactly like this.
Joe is still standing where you left him, but he’s undone his tie completely, holding it bunched in one fist like he’s been waiting for your permission to use it or desperate for something to do with his hands. His eyes find you in the dark doorway, and the sound he makes is inhuman - broken, a whine that starts in his chest and dies somewhere in the back of his throat.
“Jesus,” he breathes. “Oh my god. Baby.”
You lean against the doorframe again, mirroring your pose from earlier, but now you’re all soft skin, lace and power. You cock your hip to the side and let your fingers trail down your own stomach, toying with the little bow at your waistband. The shift of your weight makes one heel dig into the floor with a soft click.
“Happy birthday, baby,” you purr. “Come unwrap your present.”
Joe moves like he’s been electrocuted, crossing the space between you in one breath, but you stop him with a hand flat against his chest. He freezes instantly, breathing erratic, his heart hammering against your palm.
“Slow,” you murmur. “You’ve been rushing all night. Rushing to get home. Rushing to get your hands on me. It’s your birthday. Let me take care of you. Let me give you what you want.”
He nods, fast, his eyes darting all over you - your mouth, your breasts, the bow, the small space between your legs, the heels. “Please,” he says, and the word is so raw it makes your pussy clench around nothing. “Please, I’ve been hard for you since dessert. Since you teased me under the table. I’ve been - fuck - I need you.”
“I know you do,” you whisper, and you take his hand. You lead him to the bedroom, the heels clicking against the hardwood with every step, and he follows like you’re pulling his heart by a string, utterly compliant.
You push him down to sit on the edge of the bed. He goes easily, looking up at you with those dark, blown-pupil eyes, his hair falling out of place to rest against his forehead. The height difference with your heels on is perfect - he has to look right up at you, and you can see exactly how much he loves it, the way his mouth parts, the way he swallows hard.
“You look so good in that suit,” you say, tracing your thumb under his lower lip. “But I want you out of it. Piece by piece. And you’re not going to touch me until I say so. Understand?”
“Yes,” he breathes out labored, like he has to think about it. “Yes, whatever you want.”
You start with his jacket. You slide it off his shoulders, slow, letting your fingernails drag down his arms. You fold it carefully over the back of the chair - making him wait, making him watch you move around the room in nothing but lace and heels while he sits there fully clothed and aching. Then you come back and straddle his lap, settling your weight on his thighs. The lace of your panties rubs against the wool of his dress pants, you roll your hips once, just to hear him gasp, and you slowly pick at the top two buttons of his shirt, letting the fabric fall open.
“Arms up,” you command softly.
He lifts them, and you pull his dress shirt over his head, leaving him in just his undershirt. You shake your head in disapproval. “That too.”
He strips it off, and then he’s bare from the waist up, all soft muscle, hair and the frantic rise and fall of his ribs. You run your hands down his chest, feeling him shiver, watching his eyes flutter shut.
“Look at me,” you say.
He obeys.
You lean down and kiss him. It’s deep, filthy, slow - no urgency despite the screaming tension between you. You take his mouth like you have all the time in the world, licking into him, sucking on his tongue, nipping at his lower lip until he’s whimpers into your mouth, his hands hover at your waist, trembling with the effort not to grab you. You can feel him hard and straining beneath you, trapped in his pants, and you grind down against him just to feel him twitch.
You pull back and look down at him. “You’re being so good,” you praise, and his face lights up, preening even through the haze of arousal. “So good for me. My good boy.”
“Please,” he whines, and his hips buck up involuntarily up into you, seeking friction. “Please, touch me. I need your hands on me.”
“You’ll get them,” you say, and you slide off his lap, dropping to your knees between his spread out thighs.
The sound he makes is guttural. He stares down at you with something like awe and terror, his hands fisting in the bedsheets on either side of him to control himself. You run your palms up his thighs, feeling the tension in the muscles there, the way his legs are shaking. You press a kiss to the inside of his knee, then higher, then higher, your mouth trailing up the inseam of his dress pants while he watches you with wide, dark eyes. Your knees are spread on the floor, and the position makes you feel powerful, worshipful, divine.
“Baby,” he whimpers. “Oh god, what are you - ”
You reach his belt and undo it with deliberate slowness, the leather sliding free with a soft hiss. You pop the button. You ease the zipper down, and the sound is deafening in the quiet room. He’s wearing dark briefs underneath, and the outline of his dick is obscene, threatening to break free of the fabric, wet at the tip where he’s been leaking for god knows how long.
You look up at him through your lashes. “Lift.”
He lifts his hips, and you tug his pants and briefs down together, just enough to free him.
Fuck.
He’s gorgeous. He always is, but tonight, the tip is flushed dark and wet and so hard he’s throbbing against his own stomach, he’s breathtaking. You don’t dare touch him yet. You just observe, letting your gaze drag over every inch of him, and the praise comes naturally, rolling off your tongue.
“Look at you,” you murmur, and your voice is soft, worshipful. You reach out with just one finger and trace the vein along the underside, from tip to base, watching him twitch, watching more precum bead at the slit the further you go. “So pretty. You’re so pretty for me, Joe. Look how hard you are. Look how much you want me.”
“Fuck,” he chokes out, his head falling back, his neck exposed and vulnerable. “Don’t - don’t call me that, I’ll - fuck, I’ll lose it, I’ll - ”
“What?” you ask innocently, wrapping your hand around him at last. He’s hot, silky, pulsing in your grip. You stroke once, slow, from root to tip, spreading his precum over his head with your thumb. “Lose it because I think you’re pretty? Because your cock is so fucking beautiful I could look at it all night?”
You lean in and press a kiss to his inner thigh, high up, your lips brushing the base of his balls. He sobs, actually sobs, his hips jerking.
“Please,” he begs, and he’s unraveling already, all of that confidence from dinner gone, reduced to this - needy, submissive, desperate for you. “Please, suck me. Please, I need your mouth. I’ve been thinking about your mouth all night. Please, baby, I’m beggin’ - ”
“Shh,” you soothe, pumping him slowly, watching his face crumple with pleasure. “I’ve got you. I’m going to take such good care of you. But you don’t get to cum until I say so. Understand? You hold it for me. Be my good boy and hold it.”
“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, I’ll hold it. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good, just - please - ”
You finally take him into your mouth.
The sound he makes is animalistic, wrecked, his hand flying to your hair but stopping just short, hovering there, trembling. You pull off long enough to grab his wrist and place his hand on your head. “You can touch,” you whisper. “Hold my hair. Just don’t push.”
He grips your hair gently, his fingers threading through your strands, and you sink back down onto him, taking him as deep as you can, hollowing your cheeks out. You work him with your tongue, with your hand firm at the base, with the slow, wet suction that you know drives him crazy. You pull back to lap at his head, kitten licks that make him whine high in his throat, and then you dive back down, taking him deep, swallowing around him.
“Oh god,” he pants, his hips jerking, trying so hard not to thrust up into your throat. “Oh god, baby, your mouth - fuck, fuck, I’m gonna - ”
You pull off immediately, keeping your hand working him slowly, torturously slow. He cries out at the loss, his head snapping down to look at you with betrayal in his eyes, heaving.
“No,” he whines. “No, don’t stop, please, I was so close - ”
“I know,” you say sweetly, leaning up to kiss his slack mouth, letting him taste himself on your lips. “That’s the point. I told you. You don’t cum until I say so.”
You edge him like that for what feels like hours. Sinking down onto him until he’s babbling, pulling off the second he gets close, over and over, until he’s drenched in sweat, his hairs on his chest plastered against his skin, his thighs shaking so hard the bed creaks under him. He’s completely gone, reduced to only whimpers and please, please, please, his grip on your hair has gone loose, it's more like he’s clinging to you than holding you in place.
At one point you pull off and just look at him, stroking him with two fingers, barely even touching, and he actually tears up, his lower lip trembling. “Please,” he whispers, voice is cracked. “Please, I can’t - I need to cum. I need you. I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Just please let me - ”
You crawl up his body, straddling him again, your lace-covered pussy settling right against his throbbing length. He moans, his hands flying to your hips, fingers digging in hard. You let him. You roll your hips, grinding against him, the lace creating a delicious amount of friction for both of you. The heels dig into the mattress, giving you leverage to rock harder, deeper.
“You’ve been so good,” you breathe against his mouth, your own voice starting to shake now, your own need climbing high and tight in your belly. “So fucking good for me. Taking everything I give you. Letting me play with you. Letting me wreck you.”
“I love it,” he whimpers, his eyes glassy, drunk on you, on the denial. “I love when you wreck me. I love when you’re in charge. I’m yours. I’m all yours, baby, please - ”
You reach down between you and pull your panties aside. You’re soaked, dripping, and the lace is now in your way but you don’t care enough to take it off - you want him inside you now, you want to feel him break. You position him at your entrance and sink down, slow, inch by inch, your eyes locked on his, never leaving.
The can barely even make a proper noise now, just a ragged cry that tears out of his chest as you take him all the way, seating yourself fully on his lap. You’re both shaking. You feel impossibly full, stretched to the max around him, your walls burning so perfectly you have to stop for a second just to learn how to breathe. He’s gripping your hips so hard you know there will be bruises tomorrow, his head is thrown back, his throat working overtime, a vein in his neck pulsing wild and fast.
“Fuck,” he sobs. “Oh fuck, you feel - baby, you’re so tight, you’re so - please move, please, I need you to move - ”
You set the pace. Slow. Torturous. You roll your hips in small circles, grinding down on him, taking him deep and then lifting up until just the tip of him is inside you, feeling the fat head of his dick catch at your rim, then sinking back down. Every time you bottom out, he cries out, his hands roaming everywhere - your waist, your breasts through the lace, your ass - like he can’t decide what he wants to touch the most. The heels dig into the mattress, giving you perfect leverage to roll your hips more, harder, deeper.
You lean down and capture his mouth, kissing him roughly, swallowing his moans. “You feel so good inside me,” you whisper against his lips. “So fucking good. My pretty boy. My perfect birthday boy. You’re doing so well.”
“Please let me cum,” he begs, and he’s crying now, tears tracking down his temples, his face flushed and beautiful. oh so beautiful. “Please, I can’t hold it anymore. I’ve been holding it all night. Please, baby, please - ”
You sit up and ride him harder, your hands braced on his shoulders, your nails digging in. The lace of your bra is scratchy against your nipples, the bow on your panties bouncing with every movement, and the sight of him beneath you - destroyed and utterly at your mercy - is pushing you rapidly toward the edge. You roll your hips forward, grinding your clit against the base of him with every downward stroke, and the dual friction makes you gasp.
“Touch me,” you gasp. “Joe, touch me - ”
But instead of just his thumb, he makes a new sound - a growl combined with a whine, something broken - and his hands grip your hips with shocking strength. Before you can react, he’s flipping you, his need overwhelming, his strength overpowering. Your back hits the mattress with a soft thud and your breath is knocked out of you, and suddenly he’s looming over you, his hair falling into his face, his eyes black and wild.
“Need to feel you,” he chokes out, voice wrecked. “Need to make you feel good, baby, please - ”
He reaches back to grab your ankle - the heel still on, black patent leather stark against his pale skin - and runs his hand up your leg with reverent desperation, his palm rough and hot, feeling the flex of your muscle. He pushes your leg up, up, until your knee is near your shoulder, and then he hoists your calf over his shoulder. The heel digs into his back, just below his shoulder blade, a sharp point anchoring him to you.
“Fuck,” he whimpers, looking down at where you’re connected, where he’s still buried deep inside you. “Look at you. Look at how good you take me.”
The new angle is devastating. He braces one hand beside your head and uses the other to grip your thigh, holding you open, holding you exactly where he needs you. The lace of your bra is twisted, your breasts spilling out over the material, the bow on your panties still somehow intact but pulled askew.
He starts moving again. Slow at first, experimental, watching your face twist with pleasure as he hits that sweet spot inside of you every time, and then faster when you cry out in pleasure. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room - wet, heavy, rhythmic - mixed with the creak of the bedframe and the broken, high-pitched whines falling from his lips. He sounds destroyed, like he’s falling apart, but he’s so focused on you, his eyes darting between your face and your body and where he’s sliding in and out of you.
“So pretty,” he babbles, and he’s crying again, tears tracking down his temples, but he’s fucking you with pure instinct now, his hips snapping hard, the heel on his back driving him deeper with every thrust. “You’re so pretty, baby, so fucking pretty, feel so good around me, so tight, so wet - ”
You arch your back, your free leg wrapping around his waist, the other heel digging into his spine. The dual pressure - him inside you, filling you so deep you can feel him in your stomach, his hand gripping your thigh hard enough to bruise, his breath hot and ragged against your neck - is obliterating. The lace of the bra scratches your nipples raw with every jolt, the bow on your waistband rubs against his lower belly, and the wet, filthy sound of him moving inside you echoes obscenely around you.
“Joe,” you gasp, your hands flying to his hair, gripping hard. “Joe, right there, don’t stop, please don’t stop - ”
“I won’t,” he promises, voice cracked. “I won’t stop, I’ll give you everything, just let me - please let me make you cum, I’ve been so good for you, please let me - ”
He’s begging even while he’s the one fucking you, that submissive need still there even as he takes control of your body. It’s overwhelming your brain - the contrast of his strength and his need, the way he handles you like you’re fragile but fucks you like he’s starving. The bed bangs against the wall, the heels click and scrape against his back with every snap of his hips, and the wet sounds of your bodies meeting are filthy, obscene, perfect.
“Touch me,” you beg again, but this time you mean your clit, and he understands instantly. His hand slides from your thigh down between your legs, his thumb finding you with clumsy pressure, rubbing tight circles that make your vision spark.
“Cum for me,” he pleads, his forehead dropping to yours, his thrusts losing rhythm, becoming erratic, wild. “Please cum for me, baby, I need to feel you, I need to feel you squeeze me, please - ”
You shatter.
Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, starting deep where he’s pounding into you and radiating outward until you’re screaming, your back bowing off the bed, your nails raking down his shoulders. You clench around him violently, rhythmic and relentless, and he sobs at the feeling, his hips stuttering.
“Oh god, oh fuck, I’m gonna - ” he chokes, and you manage to gasp, “Come, Joe, cum inside me, give it to me now - ”
He screams your name - actually screams it, raw and broken - and buries himself to the hilt, his body going rigid as he spills into you, hot and endless, pulsing so hard you can feel every individual twitch. He keeps thrusting through it, shallow and messy, milking himself inside you, tears streaming down his face, his mouth open against your throat, making these high, wounded sounds that wreck you completely.
You collapse together, trembling, sweating, the room spinning. He stays inside you, softening slowly, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the best way possible. Your leg is still over his shoulder, the heel digging into his back, and he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Happy birthday,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his sweaty temple.
He laughs, losing every breath left in his lungs, and finally lets your leg slide down, but he catches the heel before it hits the bed, his fingers lingering on the strap. “Best birthday,” he mumbles. “Love you. Love you so much. The heels stay on next time too.”
You grin against his neck, spent and sated and complete.
Daydreaming about Joe x reader in the early newborn days, picturing Joe with the cutest tiny newborn, lots of fluff and appreciation for what reader has given him - ugh my heart physically cannot handle it 😭
ˋ°•*⁀➷ In the Blue Hour
°•*⁀➷ Joe Keery x Reader
Summary: At 3 AM, you find your husband in the nursery, shirtless and sleep-rumpled, whispering to your newborn daughter like she's a secret he's terrified to break. "I didn't think I could love you more," he tells you, eyes bright with wonder. "I was wrong."
A/N: Bestie, I will always love your Joe daydreams and bring them to reality. Your imagination is literally my favourite inspiration. <3
Word Count: 2,467
The nursery light is leaking out suspiciously from under the slightly ajar door at 3am that you remember vividly turning off. Somewhere in the house, a radiator ticks, warming the cool September air. The mobile above the crib turns slowly, star-shaped shadows drifting across the walls like a galaxy just born. You wake not to crying, but to an absence - the space beside you empty, the sheets still holding the warmth of the body recently departed.
You find him in the rocking chair by the window, your daughter cradled against his bare chest. The curtains are drawn back just enough to see the actual stars decorating the night sky, gilding the scene in something that looks, for a moment, like a painting. He's wearing the flannel pants you got him last Christmas, the ones with the worn-soft waistband, and nothing else.
She's impossibly small against him. Six pounds, two ounces at her last weigh-in, though she feels different every time you lift her - like she's already growing away from you, becoming her own person in tiny increments. The yellow blanket your mother sent from Ohio swallows her whole, pooling in his lap, making her look like a baby bird nestled in a nest way too large.
Joe hasn't noticed you yet. He's too busy amazed by her.
His thumb traces the curve of her ear - so tiny, so perfectly shaped, the cartilage still soft and pliable. He does this often, you've noticed. Maps her features with his fingertips as if memorizing her shape in braille. His head is bowed, his nose nearly brushing her forehead, and he's breathing her in. Deep, deliberate inhales, like he's trying to capture her scent in the back of his throat, to keep it there forever.
"Hey," you whisper from the doorway.
His head lifts slowly, reluctantly, as if pulling himself from a trance. And the look on his face steals your breath. It's wonder, pure and undiluted. The kind of wonder that makes his eyes sparkle in the darkness, that softens every angle of him into something almost holy. The smile that spreads across his face is slow and private, meant for you alone in this quiet space you two crafted by hand.
"She was fussing," he whispers back, like he's confessing a secret. His voice carries that particular roughness of someone who hasn't used it in hours. "I didn't want to wake you. You've barely slept in - " he counts on his free hand, fingers spreading against his knee, " - four days? Five?"
You creep across the carpet, careful not to wake her with the sound of a creaking floorboard, and sink onto the couch beside him. Up close, you can see the fatigue painted beneath his eyes, the faint creases that weren't there a month ago. The wild disarray of his hair where she's been gripping it in her tiny fist - several strands stand perpendicular to his scalp, a testament to her surprising strength. But he looks alive. Like he's never been happier - minus your wedding day. The skin of his chest reflects a light sheen of sweat in the lamplight, and you can see the rise and fall of his breathing, the way it attmepts to synchronize with hers, as if their bodies have already learned to communicate in rhythms you haven't quite deciphered.
"Can I?" you ask, reaching out.
He shifts, careful, so careful, supporting her head with one broad palm while he transfers her into your arms like the hospital nurse taught him. She's warm, and the weight of her in your arms again somehow anchors your entire world. You press your lips to her soft head gently - that newborn smell overwhelming your senses, possibility the baby powder but also something uniquely her, like rain on the warm pavement the night you brought her home and sweet milk with the vague vanilla of the lotion you use - and feel your heart expand in your chest until it aches.
"She has your hair," Joe says quietly. He's watching you both with an intensity that makes you look up. "See? That little swirl at the crown." He leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath on your cheek, and traces the spot with one gentle finger. "I kept staring at it while you were sleeping. Couldn't stop. It's like… a fingerprint. Proof that she's really ours."
You look down following his finger. He's right. That tiny whirl of dark hair, so fine it's barely there, spirals in the same direction as yours. The rest of her hair is lighter, ambiguous in color, but something in your gut tells you it'll slowly darken to match his.
"She's going to end up with your color though" you counter, smiling. "Look at that single dark strand. Definitely Keery."
He laughs, delighted, and reaches out again to trace that hair focal. His nail is bitten short, ragged from nervous habit, but his touch is feather-light. She stirs slightly, her rosebud mouth working in her sleep, a bubble of milk forming and breaking on her lower lip. They both freeze - partners in crime, co-conspirators in almost disturbing the peace.
"Sorry," he breathes, grinning at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Still learning the volume settings."
You settle back against the back of the couch, arranging her against your shoulder, and Joe immediately shifts to make more room for you both. The couch is old, a vintage find from an antique store in Brooklyn, and it creaks in protest as he adjusts his weight. His arm slides around your waist, pulling you into the warmth of his side, and you feel the steady thrum of his heart against your shoulder blade, the solid reality of his weight reminding you of the family you now had.
"You're incredible," he murmurs into your hair. His chin rests on top of your head, his stubble catching in the strands. "You know that?"
"Joe - "
"No, I mean it." He turns serious, that expressive face settling into lines of profound sincerity. He shifts to look at you directly, and you see the reflection of the window in his eyes, the dark outline of trees against navy sky. "I keep thinking about… that day. In the hospital. When they handed her to you, and you were so exhausted you couldn't even lift your head, but you smiled like you'd just won everything. Like she was worth every second." His voice cracks slightly, and he clears his throat, looks down at his free hand where its settled on your thigh. "I didn't think I could love you more. I was wrong."
You feel tears prick your eyes - hormones, exhaustion, overwhelming love, some combination that makes everything feel raw and beautiful and it's too much. "You did pretty okay yourself. The way you cried when she grabbed your finger…"
"I was overwhelmed," he defends, but he's smiling, that self-deprecating twist that you fell in love with years ago. He demonstrates now, holding up his index finger, showing you the spot where she'd latched on with surprising strength. "She was so small. I was terrified I'd break her. I kept thinking, this is it, this is the moment everything changes. And it did. It has." He looks down at her, at the tiny hand that's escaped her swaddle and curled into a fist against your collarbone. "I didn't know it could be like this. That I could feel this… full."
The baby sighs in her sleep, a sound like contentment, a small ah that escapes her parted lips. You both go quiet, watching her. The cushions ruffle softly as Joe sets it in motion again, creating a gentle rock of your bodies that seems to soothe all three of you. The rhythm is hypnotic, and you feel your own breathing slow to match it.
"Remember when we used to talk about this?" he asks after a while. His thumb has found your hip, rubbing small circles through your t-shirt. "Back when we were just… driving around, no particular place to be, making up ideal futures?"
You do. Late nights in his old car, the one that smelled like vinyl and the vanilla air freshener he refused to replace, music playing low enough to talk over. Windows down, summer air rushing in, his hand alternating on your knee or the gear shift. Mapping out lives you weren't sure you'd ever have. Two kids, maybe, he'd said once, fingers linked with yours, eyes on the road but his attention entirely on you. A dog. A house with a porch. You, always you.
"We didn't know anything," you say, laughing softly.
"We knew enough." He presses a kiss to your temple, then another to your shoulder, then - stretching carefully, his ribs expanding with the effort - to the downy top of her head. His lips linger there, eyes closing, and you watch his face transform into something so tender it makes you melt. "We knew we wanted this. Whatever this turned out to be."
What it turned out to be is 3 AM feedings and diapers stacked on every surface and a love so vast that it takes your breath away. It's Joe singing Beatles songs off-key while he changes her, because he read somewhere that babies like familiar voices, and "Blackbird" is the only one he can remember all the words to in a sleep deprived state. It's the way he brings you water without asking, how he learned to swaddle faster than you did, how he texts you photos when you're in the shower because she smiled, I think it was real, come see. It's finding him asleep in the nursery chair at dawn, her on his chest, both of them with identical expressions of peaceful abandon.
It's this - right now - the three of you breathing together in the blue-dark quiet, no place you'd rather be.
"I used to daydream about this," he admits, his voice dropping to a rumble you feel more than hear. "Before. When we were trying, and it was hard, and I didn't know if…" He trails off, swallows. You feel the movement stop against your back, the hitch in his breathing. "I'd picture it. You, me, a baby. I'd imagine what it would feel like to hold her. To be a dad." He looks at you, and his eyes are bright again, that wonder undimmed. "It wasn't even close. The real you - the real her - it's so much better than anything I could've imagined."
You lean your head back against his shoulder, turning your face into his neck, and breathe him in - soap and skin and the faint sweetness of baby lotion from where he's been holding her. His hand finds yours holding her, fingers resting together, gentle. His palm is warm, slightly calloused, and you remember suddenly the first time he held your hand, in a movie theater years ago, how his thumb had traced the same pattern it's tracing now.
"Thank you," he whispers, fierce and soft all at once. "For her. For this. For giving me everything I didn't know I needed."
You want to tell him that you didn't do it alone, that she's half him, that the gratitude goes both ways and sideways and spirals out in every direction. But words feel insufficient, so you nudge his chest slightly with your shoulder and let the silence speak for you.
The baby stirs again, more insistently this time. Her eyes flutter open - dark and unfocused, searching, the blue-gray color all newborns share, the color that might change or might not, that holds all her potential futures. She blinks, slow and deliberate, her tiny eyebrows drawing together in an expression of profound confusion.
Joe makes a sound, that particular coo he's developed, the one that means I'm here, I've got you, you're safe. It's a soft hey, hey, hey, rhythmic and low, and he leans forward, his face filling her vision.
"Hey, little love," he murmurs, and his whole face transforms, becoming blinding sunlight, becoming home. His eyes crinkle again, his mouth softening into a smile so gentle it looks like it hurts. "We're right here. We're not going anywhere."
She stares at him, or in his general direction, her gaze drifting all round his face. Her mouth works again, that rosebud opening and closing, and he brings his finger to her palm, lets her grip it. Her fingers close around his, so small they don't even wrap halfway around, and he gasps softly, that same wonder fresh and new all over again.
"Look at that," he breathes, turning to you, sharing this miracle. "Look at how strong she is."
He brings their joined hands to his lips, presses a kiss to her knuckles, then turns her hand and kisses the palm, the wrist, each tiny finger. She watches him, or seems to, her dark eyes tracking movement even if she can't quite focus. When he hums, a low vibration in his chest, she lets out a small coo back at him.
"You're so good at this," you whisper, and your voice sounds thick, emotional.
He looks up, surprised, his eyebrows lifting. "At what?"
"At loving her. At being her dad." You shift her slightly, adjusting your hold, and she makes a small sound of protest that has you both scared. But she settles, her breathing evening out again. "You make it look easy."
"It's not," he says quietly, honestly. "I worry constantly. About everything. Is she eating enough, is she too warm, is that sound normal." He laughs, a soft huff of air. "But the loving part? That is easy. That is the easiest thing I've ever done."
He reaches out, then, and touches her cheek with the back of his finger, the way you'd test a fever or check silk for quality. Her skin is impossibly soft, so fragile and new. She turns toward his touch, that newborn reflex, rooting even in her sleep.
"Sometimes I just watch her breathe," he admits. "I know that's crazy. But I'll put my hand on her back and feel her ribs expand, and I'll count. Just to be sure. One, two, three. In and out. And I'll think, we made that. We made breathing."
You lean into him again, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin, and together you watch her. The mobile turns, casting slow shadows. The radiator ticks again. Somewhere, a car passes on the wet street outside, tires hissing through puddle-spray, and then it's quiet again.
"I love you," you say, because it's the only words big enough, and even they feel small.
"I love you too," he answers, immediate and certain. He turns his head, presses his face into your temple, inhales. "I love you both so much it scares me."
Outside, the world is sleeping. Inside, your daughter sighs, a sound like contentment, like agreement. Joe's hand continues to support yours on her back, his thumb resuming its slow circles, and you sit together in the hush of that early morning, surrounded by the fragile, ferocious miracle of your new life, your new world.
