jealousy is a sick feeling
pairing: joe keery x fem!sweetheart/crybaby(?)!reader
synopsis: you and joe were already going through a rough patch. the night he left for south america, you said some words that ticked him off, he snapped, and now here you are. you hadn’t talked much since, just dry texts back and forth checking up on each other, and now you’re waking up to a picture posted everywhere of a girl kissing joes cheek (sigh)
tags/cw: like none i guess maybe angst but i dont even write angst that well so idek if it counts andddd readers lowk a crybaby (im just projecting heavyyyyyy soryr!)
wc: 4.8k
suzi speaks: hi i lvoe hurt/comfort oke bai ++ the plot was lostttt towards the end guys sorry i just wanted him to grovel
divider creds: (lost the one for the starfish one, please dm me if you know it!!) @sweetestpeacreates
you woke up to your phone vibrating violently against your nightstand.
at first, you ignored it.
burying your face deeper into the pillow, one leg tangled in the sheets, head pounding slightly from only getting maybe four hours of sleep.
your apartment was still dark, quiet except for the faint buzz of traffic outside your window and your phone continuing to vibrate every three seconds like the world was ending.
you groaned softly into the pillow before blindly reaching over the edge of the bed, fingers fumbling around until they wrapped around your phone.
the brightness hit your eyes immediately.
three missed calls from katie.
twelve texts.
instagram and twitter notifications blowing up your phone alongside your friend.
your stomach twisted instantly.
half asleep and already anxious, you unlocked your phone and opened katie’s messages first.
girl.
please tell me you’ve seen this already
actually no don’t look at it yet
wait yes do because if i had to suffer so do you
your eyebrows furrowed and you moved quick to click the attached post.
and there he was — joe. sitting outside some bar in south america wearing sunglasses and that stupid little beanie he loved, looking unfairly attractive for someone who had barely spoken to you properly in almost two weeks.
your chest tightened immediately at the sight of him alone, then you noticed the girl.
she was leaning into him from the side, smiling brightly at the camera while pressing a kiss against his cheek like she belonged there.
and joe. joe was smiling too.
not a huge smile, not even a guilty one, but relaxed hust enough to make your stomach sink straight through the floor.
you stared at the picture so long your screen dimmed then brightened again when another text came through.
before you spiral it was just a fan i saw the video where he signed something for her right after
but i still think men deserve jail time for behavior like this after an argument
you locked your phone without answering.
suddenly the apartment felt suffocating.
your throat burned painfully as you sat up slowly, blanket pooling in your lap while your mind replayed the image over and over and over again.
because maybe it wouldn’t have hurt this bad if things between you and joe had been okay before he left.
but they weren’t. they really, really weren’t.
the last time you saw joe, you’d both been standing in your kitchen at two in the morning tearing each other apart in ways neither of you meant to.
he’d been leaving for south america in less than four hours. his suitcase sat by the front door while you leaned against the counter in one of his old college sweaters, arms crossed tightly over yourself like that alone could keep you from falling apart.
you couldn’t even remember how the argument started at first.
actually no—you could. it started because you asked him not to leave angry or quiet. that was literally it.
“can we not do this before you go?” you’d asked quietly from across the kitchen, watching him aggressively shove chargers into his backpack without even looking at you.
joe let out a tired sigh through his nose before zipping the bag harder than necessary. “i’m not doing anything.”
“joe.”
“what?” he finally looked up then, dark circles under his eyes, irritation already sitting in his expression before the conversation had even fully started.
“you’ve barely talked to me all week.”
he laughed once under his breath, short and humorless as he rubbed a hand over his face. “baby, i’ve been busy.”
“busy enough to ignore me?”
“i’m not ignoring you,” he muttered quickly, grabbing another shirt from the couch and stuffing it into the suitcase.
“you literally came over three hours ago and have spent most of it on your phone.”
that made him stop moving for a second and then he slowly looked back up at you with this exhausted expression that instantly made guilt creep into your chest.
“what do you want me to say?” he said, sounding like he was exhausted of you ‘nagging at him’.
the tone alone made your eyes sting. it wasn’t cruel or anything, just tired.
you crossed your arms tighter over yourself, nails digging into your sleeves. “nothing. forget it.”
“no,” joe shook his head immediately, leaning back against the kitchen counter with frustration written all over his face. “go ahead.”
“joe-” you say, not wanting to continue because you’re sure you’ll end up crying.
“seriously,” he interrupted, waving his hand slightly like he was already overwhelmed. “what do you want from me right now?”
you stared at him in disbelief because it wasn’t even what he was saying. it was how he was saying it — like communicating with you suddenly felt exhausting.
your voice got quieter after that. smaller. “i just wanted you to act like you were gonna miss me or something, i don’t know.”
the second the words left your mouth, joe’s expression shifted completely.
guilt mixed with immediate frustration took over as he looked away and dragged both hands down his face roughly.
“that’s not fair,” he muttered.
“how?” you whispered, already feeling tears starting to burn behind your eyes.
“because i am gonna miss you.”
“then why does it feel like you can’t wait to leave?”
silence followed.
joe looked away first and that hurt you more than if he’d yelled at you.
you remembered laughing bitterly after that, mostly to stop yourself from crying. “wow.”
“don’t do that.” he scoffed.
“do what?”
“make me the bad guy because i have to go work.”
“i never said that.”
“you don’t gotta say it.”
your chest tightened painfully at the memory. even now, sitting alone in your bed staring at that stupid photo, you could still remember how cold the kitchen felt.
how tired he looked.
how neither of you knew how to communicate without accidentally cutting the other open lately.
“you know what your problem is?” you’d snapped finally, emotions boiling over too fast to stop. “you only know how to love me when it’s convenient.”
joe’s head lifted instantly. clearly, that one landed.
“seriously?” he said quietly.
but you were already crying by then, angry enough to keep going anyway. “you disappear for days, barely answer me, barely touch me anymore unless i ask first—”
“that’s bullshit.”
“is it?”
“yes.”
“then why do i feel like i’m begging for your attention all the time?”
joe looked at you for a long moment after that genuinely hurt and instead of making you feel like you got your message across, it made you feel sick because you knew he loved you.
that was the problem though. he loved you, but somewhere along the line things became messy and strained and exhausting instead of easy.
joe shook his head slowly before grabbing his jacket off the chair. “i can’t do this right now.”
the second he said it, panic hit your chest instantly. “joe-”
“i leave in four hours.”
“so what, you’re just leaving?”
“what do you want me to do?” he snapped suddenly, voice finally rising. “stand here and let you tell me i’m a shitty boyfriend for another hour?”
you flinched at the increased volume of his voice and tone and joe noticed immediately.
his face dropped almost instantly after. “fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “baby, i didn’t mean—”
“just go.” you said, voice cracking. the words came out small.
joe stared at you. “don’t do this,” he softly pleaded.
you looked away before he could see you crying harder. “just go if you wanna go so bad.”
a heavy, awful silence filled the kitchen again. then came the sound of him grabbing his suitcase.
your heart started pounding so hard it physically hurt because some part of you genuinely thought he’d stop.
that he’d walk over and hold your face and tell you he loved you and kiss you goodbye properly.
instead, he stood by the front door for a long moment without speaking.
“i’ll text you when i land.”
you hated how normal he tried to sound.
you didn’t answer.
a second later, the door shut and that was it.
the last time you saw joe, you were standing barefoot in your kitchen crying while he walked away angry.
the memory hit so hard you had to lock your phone again.
your throat burned because now here you were. waking up to another girl kissing his cheek while the two of you were barely holding your relationship together with dry texts and “have fun”s and “be safe”s.
god. you felt pathetic.
your phone buzzed again, except this time it was him.
you freeze. it’s like your body recognizes the shift before your brain does—like the air in the room changes temperature just from his name lighting up your screen.
joe.
your thumb hovers and you don’t open it immediately because something about the timing of his text makes you think this’ll turn into a deeper conversation you’re not ready to have yet.
you end up finally unlocking it after staring at the message in a daze for a couple long seconds.
hey
are you up?
you stare at it for a second too long.
of course you’re up. you’ve been up. you haven’t really gone back to sleep since you saw the picture.
your chest still feels tight in a way that comes in waves - fine one second, sinking the next.
you type slowly, figuring out what you wanna say as you go.
yeah
send.
almost instantly, the typing bubble appears.
he’s fast. too fast for what you’re hoping is a regular conversation.
i saw something online
can we talk for a second?
your stomach drops before you even finish reading it.
so he did see it. of course he did.
you sit up a little straighter in bed, blanket slipping down your legs, your room suddenly feeling too small for your skin.
you should say something normal. say “it’s fine.” or till him “don’t worry about it.”
you should say literally anything that keeps this from becoming real, but your fingers hesitate.
it wasn’t what it looks like honey
i swear
you stare at the message and your throat tightens in a way that feels humiliatingly physical because you know what it actually was but you’re still hurt over it for some reason.
your chest aches, sharp and stupid, like something pressing inward.
it’s fine
send.
you realize you don’t even think when you send that, you just resort to the default.
the typing bubble appears immediately.
no
don’t do that
your breath catches slightly and you swallow.
i’m not doing anything
lie.
you are
i know you
you sit there, staring at the screen, feeling your eyes sting but refusing to let it fully happen.
you type slower this time.
it’s just a picture joe
it doesn’t matter
there’s a pause. longer this time.
it matters to me
your chest tightens again. your fingers are shaking slightly now so you press them into your blanket to steady yourself.
we haven’t even been okay lately
this isn’t the thing that changes anything
you hate how honest that is because it slips out before you can soften it.
the typing bubble appears immediately.
that’s not fair
you stare at that. it was such a familiar phrase that you can almost hear his voice saying it.
i’m not saying it is
i’m just saying it feels like everything’s already weird between us
there’s no quick reply this time and in that short silence, your mind starts doing what it always does when it gets too quiet: replaying everything.
the kitchen.
his suitcase.
your voice cracking.
his face when he left.
you grip your phone tighter.
i don’t want this to get worse while i’m still away
your throat tightens instantly because it already is — it already has been.
you swallow before moving your fingers rapidly to text him again.
i don’t either
there. a safe and neutral answer.
can i call you?
your heart stutters a little at that.
calling means hearing his real voice after weeks and not being able to hide behind your texts, so you hesitate long enough that the bubble appears again.
please
your fingers move before your brain finishes protecting you.
okay
there’s a brief pause and you start to think about shutting your phone off and not answering, but then the call comes in.
his name flashes across your screen again like it’s always belonged there.
you stare at it. your thumb hovers and you answer.
“hey,” you say softly. you hate that you still sound like you care this much.
there’s a beat abd then his voice comes through low and careful. “hey…”
he sounds tired. not physically, but emotionally. like he’s been sitting with this for a while.
“i saw it this morning,” he says.
you close your eyes for a second. of course he did.
“yeah,” you say. just that.
he exhales. “it was a fan,” he says quickly. “I didn’t even realize she was gonna do that until it was happening. I swear.”
you don’t respond right away, not because you don’t believe him, but because believing him isn’t actually the issue.
you sit back against your headboard slowly. “i know,” you say quietly. and you do. you’re not stupid.
there’s a pause.
joes voice softens a little. “you don’t sound like you know.”
your throat tightens again. you stare at the wall.“i do,” you say, but your voice is smaller now, and you hate that he can hear that.
another pause. then, quieter: “are you okay?”
there it is again — that question. you almost laugh, but instead your eyes sting, unexpectedly sharp.
you blink it away immediately. “yeah,” you say. “i’m fine.”
and even as you say it you know it sounds wrong.
there’s silence on the other end.
joe doesn’t push, not right away at least, and that’s what makes your chest ache worse because he usually would.
“you’ve been saying that a lot lately,” he says carefully.
your fingers curl into the blanket and you feel something rise in your throat.
“because i am,” you say lightly. “i’m just tired, joe. that’s all.”
a pause. longer now.
“okay,” he says, but it doesn’t sound like he believed you, instead it sounds like he’s giving up on pushing.
your chest tightens again.
you hate that you want him to argue.
you hate that you want him to push harder.
you hate that you want him to see it without you having to bleed it out.
instead of pushing, he just says softly, “i miss you.”
you close your eyes again. “i miss you too.” your voice comes out quieter than you intend.
there’s a pause.
“i’ll be home soon,” he says, almost like he’s reminding you he’s not giving up.
you nod even though he can’t see it. “okay,” you say.
and then you both just sit there, not really talking or trying to fix anything.
just holding onto a call that feels like it’s letting things simmer and neither of you hang up first.
the next few weeks don’t really change anything on the surface. joe still texts you, still calls sometimes, still sends little updates about his days, and you answer the same way every time—light, quick, like everything is fine, but it isn’t.
you get good at acting okay in a way that scares you a little. your replies come easy. your voice stays steady on calls. you even laugh sometimes at the right moments, like your body learned how to perform normal.
and joe believes it. he even starts sounding lighter too. less worried. more like himself again. he tells you about flights, random people he meets, little moments from tour life that don’t really mean anything but fill the space between you two. and you listen, and you respond, and it almost feels like things are healing. almost.
because when the call ends or the phone goes quiet, everything comes back.
your feelings aren’t loud at first, instead subtle. a pause between tasks. a second too long staring at nothing. and then it hits you all at once - the kitchen, the suitcase, the argument that never really got resolved, the way he looked when he left like he didn’t know if staying would make things worse or better.
but you keep moving anyway.
you clean more than necessary. you reorganize things that don’t need reorganizing. you cook even when you’re not hungry. you do anything that gives your hands something to hold so your mind doesn’t get the chance to spiral too deep.
but it always does anyway.
some nights you sit in bed with your phone glowing in your hand, rereading old messages just to feel something familiar. other nights you just lie there staring at the ceiling, letting the silence press too close until it feels like it’s sitting on your chest.
you never tell him any of it.
because every time you almost do, something stops you.
not pride or distance. just fear.
fear that if you admit how much it still hurts, it’ll become real enough to scare him off again. fear that if you’re too much this time, he’ll actually choose the distance instead of you.
so you swallow it down every time.
“i’m good.”
“just tired, baby, sorry.”
“yeah, i’m okay.”
and joe keeps believing you because you’ve gotten really good at sounding like you mean it.
he starts talking more about coming home. not in a tense way anymore, just casual. like it’s something normal and safe waiting at the end of all this travel. you say you’re excited too.
and you are.
that’s the part that confuses you the most because you miss him. deeply. constantly. but you’re also terrified of what happens when he finally sees you without the performance.
the day before he comes back feels strange from the moment you wake up.
you don’t really sleep properly the night before. everything feels too still, like your apartment is holding its breath with you. you get up early anyway, like you can outpace your thoughts if you move fast enough.
you clean everything. again. even though it’s already clean. you cook something simple you probably won’t finish. you rearrange small things around your place just to keep your body occupied.
you keep telling yourself you’re just preparing for his return, just getting ready, just being normal, but it feels more like bracing for him.
when the next day arrives, it feels unreal in a way you can’t explain. like the hours are moving but you aren’t fully inside them. you go through your routines anyway. shower. change. clean again out of habit. put food on the stove just to have noise in the room.
something to fill the silence so it doesn’t fill you instead.
and then the door opens.
you hear it before you see him. the sound of the lock, the soft shift of a suitcase, the familiar weight of someone stepping back into a space that used to feel like shared air.
joe walks in like he belongs there. like he never left.
he looks tired, but softer too. his eyes find you immediately.
and for a second, everything holds still.
you smile, you actually do, despite the circumstances of the past few weeks.
“hey,” you say, turning slightly back toward the stove so he doesn’t see how hard your hands are shaking.
“hey,” he answers, like it’s normal. like nothing ever broke.
he drops his bag and steps closer. kisses your cheek. wraps an arm around you for a second longer than usual like he’s trying to memorize that you’re real again.
and it almost works.
you eat together later like you always used to. he talks about the trip, little stories, small frustrations, things that should feel easy. you nod. you add comments where you can. you even laugh once or twice, soft and automatic, like muscle memory.
but underneath it, something is building.
it’s slow and quiet, and quite frankly inevitable.
when dinner settles, the noise fades. the space between you gets quieter. and then he looks at you differently. not casually or distracted like it used to be before he left
“how have you been?” he asks. softer now. “like actually.”
your fork pauses mid-air and your chest tightens instantly.
you already know what this question is. not small talk. not surface-level. it’s the exact thing you’ve been avoiding for weeks across all the phone calls.
you try to be okay anyway, you really do.
“good,” you say too quickly. “just… same stuff. nothing crazy.”
he doesn’t respond right away, just watches you like he’s analyzing you, and something in that silence breaks you open.
your breath catches and your eyes sting before you can stop it. you shake your head slightly like you can physically push the moment away, but it’s already too late.
“i’m not okay,” you say, voice cracking immediately on the last word.
joe goes still while you let out a shaky laugh that doesn’t sound like humor at all. it sounds like pressure finally releasing.
and then it all spills out. “i wasn’t okay the whole time you were gone,” you say, words coming faster now, like you can’t stop them anymore. “i just kept pretending because you finally seemed okay and i didn’t want to mess that up again.”
your voice wavers harder. you wipe your face quickly, embarrassed and overwhelmed and still unable to stop.
“i saw that picture and it just made everything worse because it already hurt before that,” you admit, swallowing hard. “and i didn’t tell you because i didn’t want to be the reason things got heavy again. i didn’t want you to get tired of me.”
the silence is loud now that you’re not talking. you swallow, not wanting to look up just in case he was already getting up, ready to pack his stuff because he decided he doesn’t want to deal with this.
but joe doesn’t even interrupt. he doesn’t defend himself. he doesn’t try to fix it immediately.
he just stands up slowly like he’s afraid of scaring you further.
he walks around the table and pulls you into him.
no hesitation this time. no distance like that day a couple weeks ago, just a soft pair of shaking arms around you.
and the second he holds you, everything you’ve been holding together just collapses.
you break into him fully.
it’s not controlled. it’s not pretty. it’s weeks of swallowed silence coming out all at once. your face presses into his shirt and your hands grip him like you’re scared he’ll disappear again if you loosen even a little.
joe tightens his hold immediately. “hey,” he says quietly, right into your hair. “i’ve got you. i’ve got you.”
you shake your head against him, still crying hard.
“no,” you manage, voice breaking completely. “i wasn’t okay. i wasn’t okay and i kept pretending because i thought if i told you, you’d leave.”
joe goes still for a second, but still not letting go. just holding you like he’s trying to understand how he missed how much weight you were carrying alone and for the first time since all of this started, neither of you are pretending anymore.
and when joe finally speaks, his voice is different. quieter and wrecked in a way he isn’t even trying to hide anymore.
“you thought i’d leave you…because you were hurting?”
you don’t answer right away. you can’t. your throat feels tight, your hands still half-covering your face like you’re trying to disappear into yourself.
he exhales through his nose, like he doesn’t know whether to be upset or devastated, and ends up somewhere worse than both.
“no,” he says, immediately shaking his head, pulling back just enough to look at you. “no, baby…no.”
his hands come up to your face, thumbs wiping your tears carefully, like you’re something fragile he’s terrified he already broke.
“why would you think that?” he asks, but it isn’t accusatory. he sounds genuinely confused.
you try to speak, but it falls apart halfway out.
“because i—i didn’t know what else to think,” you manage, voice shaking. “you were already tired of me before you left. and i just…i didn’t want to be more….”
something in his expression completely cracks and he lets out a quiet, broken breath and looks away for a second like he’s trying to hold himself together. when he looks back at you, his eyes are glossy in a way he’s clearly trying to hide and failing.
“tired of you?” he repeats, like the words physically don’t make sense to him. “are you serious?”
he steps back slightly, runs a hand over his face, then suddenly drops down.
not dramatically or for effect. he’s on his knees in front of you before you even process it, like his body decided words weren’t enough.
you freeze.
joe reaches for your hands gently, turning them over like he needs proof you’re really here. his lips press to your wrists first, soft and shaky, like he’s grounding himself in you.
“i’m so sorry,” he says immediately. once. then again. “i’m so, so sorry.”
you try to pull your hands back instinctively, overwhelmed, but he just holds them closer, forehead briefly resting against your knuckles.
“no,” he breathes. “don’t do that. don’t disappear from me like that.”
his voice breaks slightly on the last word.
“i wasn’t tired of you,” he says, looking up at you now, eyes completely undone. “i was scared i was messing everything up and i didn’t know how to fix it fast enough. i was thinking about you the whole time i was gone.”
your breath stutters.
he squeezes your hands gently like he’s trying to anchor you to the same reality.
“every day,” he continues, quieter now. “i kept replaying that night before i left. wondering if i said something wrong. if i made you feel alone. i was so worried you were pulling away and i didn’t even know how to reach you properly from across the world.”
your tears come harder again, but it’s different now. less sharp. more releasing.
joe shakes his head again, frustrated with himself more than anything.
“and you were just here thinking i’d leave you if you showed me you were hurting?” he whispers. “that’s not love to me. that’s not even a question, honey.”
he stands up slowly, still holding your hands, then gently pulls you back toward him until you’re close again.
this time, he doesn’t hesitate.
he wraps his arms around you fully, one hand at the back of your head, the other holding you like he’s making a promise he can’t afford to break again.
“you don’t have to perform for me,” he says softly into your hair. “you don’t have to be okay to keep me.”
you shake your head slightly against his chest, still crying, but calmer now.
he tilts your chin up just enough to look at you, thumb brushing under your eye like he’s memorizing the way you feel when you cry and the way you look when you don’t have to pretend.
“i hate that you were carrying all of that alone,” he murmurs. “i hate it so much.”
“i love you. okay? i love you in every version of you. the happy one, the quiet one, the one that’s falling apart in my arms right now. all of you.”
you let out a shaky breath that turns into something closer to a broken laugh, and he smiles faintly too, like he’s relieved you’re still here with him in this moment.
he presses a kiss to your forehead. then your cheek. then another like he can’t stop himself now that he’s started.
“i’m here,” he says again, but this time it’s softer like a vow. “and i’m not letting you go just because things get heavy. especially not then.”
his forehead rests against yours, and his hands stay on your face like he’s afraid distance even a few inches away will undo everything.
“you’re mine,” he adds quietly, then immediately softens it with a breathy laugh. “not in a weird way. just…god, you know what i mean.”
you nod, still teary, and he smiles properly this time, brushing his nose against yours.
“i mean it,” he whispers. “i love you. i love you so much it’s actually kind of annoying.”
you laugh a little more this time, real this time, and he looks at you like that sound is the only thing that’s mattered all day.
he kisses you again, slower now, like he’s got nowhere else to be except right there with you.
and when he pulls back just slightly, still close enough that you’re sharing the same breath, his voice turns gentle again.
“stay with me here,” he murmurs. “don’t run from me again, yeah?”
