♡ ◟ JOEYLYNCH X READER
˚˖𓍢ִ໋ your boyfriend shows up at your door bleeding after another fight with his dad… you try to patch him up but he has something else in mind ⊹ ࣪ ˖
wc: 2871
The knock on my front door is loud and aggressive, the kind that makes my heart jump even though I already know who it is.
I open the door and there he is — Joey Lynch, breathing hard, knuckles split open and bleeding, a fresh cut on his lip and another above his eyebrow. His jaw is clenched so tight I’m surprised it hasn’t shattered. His shirt is wrinkled and there’s a smear of blood on the collar.
I don’t even have to ask what happened. I never do. We both know it’s his dad again.
Without saying anything, I step aside so he can come in. He storms past me, shoulders tense, fists still curled like he’s ready to swing at someone else. I close the door quietly and follow him into the kitchen.
“Sit,” I say softly, already grabbing the first aid kit from the cupboard.
Joey drops into one of the chairs at the table, legs spread wide, staring at the floor with that dangerous look in his eyes. His chest is still rising and falling fast. He’s vibrating with rage.
I wet a clean cloth and stand between his legs, gently tilting his chin up so I can clean the cut on his lip. He winces but doesn’t pull away.
“You’re gonna need stitches for this one,” I murmur, dabbing carefully. “And your knuckles look bad too.”
He doesn’t answer. Just keeps breathing through his nose like a bull, eyes distant and furious.
I keep my voice calm and steady as I work. “Breathe, Joey. It’s over now. You’re here with me.”
He lets out a bitter laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “Yeah. Real fucking comforting.”
I ignore the sarcasm and start cleaning his split knuckles. His hands are shaking with leftover adrenaline. I can feel how tightly wound he is — like one wrong word and he might explode.
“You know you can talk to me, right?” I say quietly, blowing gently on his knuckles to ease the sting. “You don’t have to hold all this shit in until it comes out like this.”
Joey’s eyes finally snap up to mine. They’re dark, angry, and a little wild.
“What the fuck do you want me to say?” he snaps, voice low and rough. “That my dad’s a piece of shit? That I wanted to kill him tonight? That I’m so fucking tired of this?”
His voice cracks at the end, even though he’s trying to hide it. I keep cleaning his wounds, slow and gentle, trying to be the calm in his storm.
“I know, baby,” I whisper. “I know.”
I lean in and press a soft kiss to the uninjured part of his forehead, then move to clean the cut above his eyebrow. He’s still breathing hard, fists clenched on his thighs, but he lets me take care of him.
I finish cleaning the cut above his eyebrow and reach for the plasters in the first aid kit. Joey stays quiet while I carefully place one over the wound, my fingers gentle against his skin. The anger is still rolling off him, but it’s starting to mix with something else — that heavy, restless energy he gets when he’s this worked up.
I move on to his knuckles, placing small plasters over the worst of the splits. As I’m leaning over him, his hand suddenly drops to my thigh, palm sliding slowly up the bare skin under the hem of my shorts.
“I like these,” he mutters, voice low and rough. His fingers squeeze my thigh possessively, thumb brushing the inside.
I pause what I’m doing and look at him. “Yeah?”
His eyes are dark as they drag slowly up my legs, lingering on the shorts I’m wearing — the tiny black ones he’s always liked. His hand keeps moving, sliding higher until his fingers slip under the fabric, gripping my ass.
“Yeah,” he says, almost a growl. “Too fucking short. You wear these when you know I’m coming over?”
There’s still anger in his voice, but it’s shifting now, turning into that dangerous, hungry tone I know so well. His other hand comes up to my waist, pulling me closer between his spread legs. He’s getting handsy fast — fingers digging into my skin, breath hot against my stomach as he leans in.
I try to stay focused, pressing one last plaster onto his knuckle. “Joey…”
He doesn’t let me finish. His hand squeezes my ass harder, pulling me flush against him as he looks up at me with those stormy eyes.
“You always try to fix me,” he says, voice rough. “Patching me up like I’m not completely fucked. And you stand here in these little shorts acting like I’m not gonna lose it.”
His fingers slip further under my shorts, brushing against me teasingly. I can feel how hard he already is through his jeans as he pulls me even closer.
“Joey, you’re still bleeding—” I start, but he cuts me off by pressing his face against my stomach, kissing the skin there hotly.
“Don’t care,” he mumbles against me, nipping at my skin. “Need you.”
“Joey,” I say, a little breathless as his hands keep squeezing and pulling at me. “My mam’s gonna be home from work any minute now.”
He lets out a frustrated sound, almost a growl, and pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are still dark with that mix of rage and want.
“Okay, so we go up to your room,” he says, already starting to stand up like it’s decided.
I put my hands on his chest to slow him down. “My room’s being repainted. You know that. There’s dust sheets and paint cans everywhere.”
He freezes for a second. Then I watch the frustration boil over.
“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters angrily. He stands up fully, towering over me, jaw clenched tight again. The anger that had started to shift is flaring back up — not at me exactly, but at everything. At the situation. At not being able to have me the way he wants right now.
He storms over to the kitchen window and yanks the blinds shut with more force than necessary, plunging the room into a softer, dimmer light. When he turns back around, his eyes lock on me with that intense, predatory look.
Before I can say anything else, he’s on me.
In one swift movement, Joey grabs my waist, spins me around, and bends me over the kitchen table. My chest presses against the wooden surface as he kicks my legs apart. I gasp at the suddenness of it.
“Joey—” I start, but he cuts me off by pressing his hard cock against my ass through our clothes, grinding into me roughly.
“Table’s fine,” he growls against the back of my neck, one hand fisting my hair while the other yanks my shorts and panties down in one rough tug. “I don’t give a fuck where we are.”
His hand slides between my legs, fingers finding me already wet. He lets out a low, satisfied sound and pushes two fingers inside me without warning, curling them deep.
“Always so fucking wet for me,” he mutters, voice rough and angry. “Even when I show up like this.”
He pumps his fingers hard and fast, bending over me so his chest is pressed against my back. I can feel how furious he still is — the way he’s using my body to let some of that rage out.
Joey’s fingers are still buried deep inside me, pumping hard and fast as he leans over my back, breathing heavy against my neck.
“Tell me you want this,” he growls, voice low and rough. His fingers curl perfectly against that spot inside me, making my knees weak. “Tell me right now or I stop.”
“I want it,” I gasp immediately, pushing back against his hand. “Please, Joey. I want you.”
That’s all he needs.
He pulls his fingers out and I hear the sound of his belt and zipper. Seconds later I feel the thick, hot head of his cock pressing against my entrance. He rubs it up and down my soaked folds, teasing me for just a moment before he grips my hips hard and thrusts in deep in one rough stroke.
“Fuck—” I moan loudly, gripping the edge of the table as he fills me completely. He’s so thick, stretching me open in that perfect, almost-too-much way.
Joey lets out a deep, guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt. “So fucking tight. Always so good for me.”
He doesn’t give me time to adjust. He starts fucking me hard and deep right away, hips snapping against my ass with every brutal thrust. The table creaks loudly under us as he pounds into me, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip so tight I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow.
“Take it,” he grunts, voice wrecked with anger and lust. “Take every fucking inch, baby.”
I’m moaning loudly with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the kitchen. He’s fucking me like he’s trying to get all that rage out through my body — deep, punishing strokes that hit exactly where I need him.
Joey leans down over me again, chest pressed to my back as he keeps railing me. “This what you wanted?” he growls against my ear. “Me coming over bleeding and pissed off just so I can fuck you like this over your kitchen table?”
“Yes—” I cry out, pushing back to meet his thrusts. “Fuck, Joey— harder.”
He lets out a dark, satisfied sound and gives me exactly what I asked for. His hips slam into me even harder, faster, the table shaking underneath us. One of his hands slides around to rub my clit in tight, rough circles while he keeps fucking me senseless.
“Joey— wait,” I gasp between moans. “I wanna see you.”
He slows down for a second, then pulls out completely. I turn around quickly and sit on the edge of the kitchen table, spreading my legs for him. Joey steps between them immediately, eyes dark and intense as he looks at me.
He grabs my thighs, yanks me to the very edge of the table, and pushes back inside me in one deep thrust. I moan loudly, wrapping my arms around his neck as he starts fucking me again — slower this time, but still so deep and hard.
We’re face to face now. His forehead presses against mine as he thrusts into me, our breaths mixing. I pull him into a messy, desperate kiss, tongues sliding together as he keeps moving inside me.
“I love you,” I whisper against his lips between kisses. “You know that, right?”
Joey groans, hips snapping harder like he’s trying to shut me up, but I keep going.
“You’re worth so much more than this,” I breathe, voice shaking every time he thrusts deep. “More than the shit your dad puts you through. You’re not him, Joey. You’re so much better than him.”
He kisses me harder, almost angrily, like he’s trying to distract me. But I can feel the way his rhythm falters for a second, the way his grip on my thighs tightens.
“You deserve better,” I continue, moaning when he hits that perfect spot again. “Fuck— you’re so deep— I can’t— I love you so much. You’re not worthless. You’re not what he says you are.”
Joey lets out a frustrated sound, burying his face in my neck as he fucks me harder, like he’s trying to lose himself in my body.
“Quit making it depressing,” he mutters against my skin, voice rough. But I can tell my words are getting to him. His thrusts are still hard and deep, but there’s something more vulnerable in the way he’s holding me now.
I cup his face with both hands, forcing him to look at me while he keeps fucking me. My voice keeps breaking from how good he feels.
“I mean it, baby. You’re worth everything. You’re not your dad. You’re not the fights. You’re not the anger. You’re mine. And I love you even when you show up bleeding and pissed off.”
Joey’s eyes look glassy for a moment. He kisses me again, deep and messy, hips still driving into me relentlessly. I can feel how much he’s affected even if he won’t say it.
“Shut up,” he groans, but there’s no real bite to it. He fucks me harder instead, like he’s pouring all the things he can’t say into every thrust.
My phone starts ringing on the kitchen counter.
I glance over and see my mam’s name on the screen. My eyes widen.
“Joey— shit, it’s my mam—”
He doesn’t stop. If anything, the risk seems to make him thrust harder, a dark little smirk tugging at his lips as he keeps fucking me deep and steady.
“Answer it,” he murmurs against my ear, voice low and filthy. “Don’t want her getting suspicious, do you?”
I reach for the phone with a shaky hand and swipe to answer, trying to sound normal.
“H-hey Mam,” I say, voice a little too breathy.
Joey chooses that exact moment to hit that perfect spot inside me. I bite down hard on my lip to stop myself from moaning.
“Hey love,” my mam says cheerfully on the other end. “Just at the shop. Do you want anything? I’m getting milk and bread.”
Joey’s hips snap forward particularly hard and I have to cover my mouth with my free hand for a second.
“I’m— I’m good,” I manage, voice strained. “Just… whatever you usually get is fine.”
Joey leans down and sucks on my neck, one hand still gripping my thigh as he keeps thrusting into me slow and deep. I can barely think straight.
My mam continues, completely oblivious. “Oh and is Joey coming around anytime soon? I can pick up some cans of Coke for him — I know it’s his favourite.”
I nearly moan out loud. Joey lets out a quiet, amused huff against my neck and starts fucking me a little faster, like he’s enjoying this way too much.
“Yeah— yeah he’s… he’s here actually,” I say, trying so hard to keep my voice steady. “You can—you can get the Coke if you want.”
Joey’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as he buries himself deep, grinding against me. I shoot him a glare, but it turns into a silent moan as he hits that spot again.
“You alright, love?” my mam asks. “You sound a bit out of breath.”
“I’m fine!” I say quickly, a little too loud. “Just… moving some stuff around in the kitchen. The painting stuff, you know.”
Joey grins against my neck and reaches between us to rub my clit with his thumb, making my legs shake. I have to bite my fist to stay quiet.
“Alright well I won’t be long,” my mam says. “See you soon, love.”
“See you,” I manage before quickly hanging up.
The second the call ends I let out a loud, broken moan.
“You’re such an asshole,” I gasp, slapping his shoulder weakly as he keeps fucking me.
Joey just laughs lowly, looking way too pleased with himself as he grips my hips and starts pounding into me harder again.
“Couldn’t help it,” he murmurs, kissing me messily. “You sound so pretty trying to hold back those moans for your mam.”
He grabs my hips harder and starts fucking me with deep, punishing thrusts, like the phone call only made him more desperate.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans, forehead pressed against mine. “Almost got caught because of me and you’re still dripping down my cock.”
I moan loudly, wrapping my legs tight around his waist as he rails me on the kitchen table. The table shakes with every hard snap of his hips. I’m still sensitive from earlier, but the intensity feels so good it almost hurts.
“Joey— fuck— right there,” I gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.
He kisses me messily, all tongue and teeth, while pounding into me without mercy. One of his hands slides between us to rub my clit again, fast and rough.
“Gonna cum for me again?” he growls against my mouth. “Want to feel you squeezing me when I fill you up.”
I nod desperately, already feeling another orgasm building fast. “Yes— I’m close— don’t stop—”
Joey fucks me harder, the sound of skin slapping skin loud in the kitchen. His breathing is ragged, sweat dripping down his neck as he chases his own release.
“I love you,” I whimper, barely able to get the words out. “I love you so much.”
That seems to break something in him. He buries his face in my neck, thrusting deep and frantic.
“Fuck— I love you too,” he groans, voice strained. “So fucking much.”
The words push me over the edge. I cum hard around him, crying out his name as my pussy clenches tightly. My whole body shakes, legs locked around him as pleasure crashes through me.
Joey follows right after, groaning loudly as he buries himself deep and cums inside me. His hips stutter, cock pulsing as he fills me up, holding me tight against him like he never wants to let go.
We stay like that for a long moment — him still inside me, both of us breathing hard, bodies trembling. He presses soft kisses to my neck and shoulder, the anger from earlier finally starting to fade into something softer.
After a while he pulls back just enough to look at me, thumb brushing my cheek.
“You okay?” he asks quietly, voice rough.
I nod, still catching my breath. “Yeah… you?”
He gives a small, tired smile and kisses me gently. “Better now.”