Winny's Place

I'll write if I feel like it

[winnywinwinny]

Beloved Pout | Joe Keery X AFAB Reader Summary: Reader gets slightly drunk at a bonfire and starts giving attitude to the person who secretly loves it the most. Joe ends up being the damn babysitter. (cough cough, Steve) Story Rating: FLUFF

The bonfire casts a soft, warm glow over the lapping water of the lake, shining like the end of a cigarette at night. The smoke seeps into the clothing, trapped like words and feelings unspoken. Joe raises his cup to his lips, tasting the bitter liquid coat his tongue, watching as she giggles into her fourth cup.

They met through friends, getting close quite fast by bonding over music and movies and good cigarettes. Time seemed to stop in her company, nights never quite ending with her. They always ended up putting on a second movie, driving to another restaurant, taking the long way home.

Joe shakes his head softly as he smiles though a closed mouth, reaching over and prying the cup from her hands.

"I think that's enough for you" He chuckles, noticing her soft drunkenness, the soft redness in her cheeks and wonder lighting up through her eyes.

"Joeyyyyy, god you're so boringgg" She whines softly as she reaches for the cup that he's already confiscated in the gentlest way possible. And that whine melts him, making him smile softly and stare at her with wide eyes.

"Just trying to have fun" She adds, like she's trying to plead her case and get the amber drink back. The pout painting her lips in the most forlorn way. A kicked puppy.

"Mmm, I'm so mean to you, huh?" He basically coos, voice dropping half an octave as he agrees. How dare he watch over her drinking? A smug grin decorating his mouth as he hears the single huff come from her nose as she accepts her fate, too squishy in the head to defy her best friend.

Her hair falls over her shoulder like a soft stream of water falling down rocks in a river as she lowers her head and sticks that wet bottom lip out just enough for him to see. You did this, Joey.

His smirk fades softly into a more testing look, as if to ask her with his eyes, Are you really doing this right now?

As if she's replying with facial expression, her nose crinkles ever so subtly, a pinch of grump added to the pot. Before relaxing her face and looking at the lake ahead. Her eyes seeking the ripples and shine of the moon on the surface, wondering how something so simple can be so beautiful. He thinks the same thing with his eyes on her, still watching her as his gaze softens just a hair.

The moment passes and so does another hour, her lips parting and jaw unhinging as she lets out a yawn, mind and body gasping for the soft embrace of her bed which she's dressed in linen and minky couture. Too intoxicated to drive, as well as Joe driving her here in the first place, she looks over at him. And low and behold, he was already watching her, no shame whatsoever as he smiles softly at her gaze and raising his brows softly, a silent invitation saying, Going home now?

She purses her lips and pulls them to the side, a hint to her succumbing to the night. As if on cue, Joe slaps his knees and stands up, exhaling as he gets out of the low seat of the wooden Adirondack chair painted white years and years ago, chipping in places that scratch bare skin.

"You two turnin' in for the night?" Someone asks Joe, to which he replies with a respectful nod, chucking the rest of the amber drink into the grass, hearing the soft splash coat the blades of green. Joe grabs her hand, feeling the tips of her fingers cold like the water wrapping loosely around his, and starts walking down the path to where his car is parked.

The soft sound of doors unlocking fills the night and shoes scraping grit and road follows after as she climbs inside the car smelling like fisherman's friend cough drops and cigarettes. Joe sighs as he reaches around to buckle her in, his cologne pulling her further into the seat as she relaxes, fully ready to sleep there instead of her bed.

"Uh uh, goober. Stay awake for five minutes and we'll get there." Joe whispers before closing her door and walking around to get in on his side, reading her mind.

The engine sputters for a moment before warming the cabin, and Joe drives off slowly, the turn signal tapping a part in her brain that aches from the booze. Her nose scrunches softly again at the annoying sound, making Joe release a whisper of a chuckle.

Every time she gets drunk or sick she melts into a puppy. And every time she does, he goes soft at the edges. Just another excuse to care for her in the way he's always wanted to. The silence is so warm, kissing everything unsaid and secret, holding space for the two as they get carried across the empty streets and neon signs of the city ahead.

"Eyes up" Joe whispers, noticing her nodding off as he pulls up to her apartment complex. His words aren't harsh, just a soft nudge that she needs to walk up those stares if she doesn't want to be carried like the baby she's acting like. Although, Joe isn't mad at the idea.

She yawns again, squeaking softly at the hight of it, and then stretches her arms in front of her as he parks. He unbuckles himself and climbs across his seat, undoing her seatbelt with a simple hand movement that's done it 100 times before. He doesn't back away, just looks at her as he exhales, then smiles softly as he tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Home" He whispers, admiring her from close up as she's sleepy, staring right back at him with those wonder-filled eyes and pouty lip. His word is gentle, like he's waking up a toddler after a 4pm nap.

She nods and huffs once out of her nose, but lighter than before. Not wanting to end the night but knowing that sleep in imminent and demanding attention.

"Walk me up, Joey?" She whispers back, hoping to extend the moment just a minute longer, using that nickname that makes him weak in the knees for added effect.

Joe smiles as a reply, already knowing he's gonna walk her to her bed, tuck her in, and feel his heart ache for more once she's asleep and he's back in his car. He walks to her side and opens her door, taking both her hands in his, and pulling her up to her feet. She wobbles softly, the alcohol more pronounced as she stands, and Joe just stands with her for a moment, wrapping his arms around her small waist and resting his chin on the crown of her head, smelling the conditioner and bonfire smoke in her hair.

"Let's get you to bed, baby" He whispers against her head, eyes looking up like he's praying for more. The nickname rolling off his tongue like he's said it a thousand times despite it being new.

"Mkay" She replies against his chest, smelling his cologne and feeling the steady breaths rising and falling.

He holds her hand, walking her up the stairs and across the hallway, hearing the soft buzzing of the lights above. His thumb tracing circles absentmindedly across her knuckles as if it's second nature. She wobbles as she pokes her key at everything except the keyhole of her door, making soft taps against the metal knob. Joe slips the key from her hands and unlocks the door for her, hands on her hips as he walks behind her as they both enter her apartment, the scent of vanilla kissing their noses as a welcome.

"Gonna sleep so good" She whispers into the dark hallway, turning the corner to her bedroom where her fortress of pillows and blankets await.

"I know you are, baby. Gonna sleep till noon." Joe murmurs into her ear, hands still on her waist, giving a gentle squeeze as she eyes her bed.

She turns around

"Coming?" She asks as her eyes are already half closed, holding his hands in hers as she rocks them side to side.

Joe feels his chest flutter at that. She wants him to stay. In her bed. While she sleeps.

"As long as you want" he whispers, cupping her face with both hands and placing the most fragile kiss to her forehead. A sprinkle of the feelings he keeps inside spilling out and onto her skin.

[winnywinwinny]

Record Shop | Joe Keery X AFAB Reader Summary: Reader owns a small record shop downtown and gets an unexpected visitor. Reader then destroys Joe with her pussy. I am so effing serious. Warning: POETIC SMUT Authors Note: Since writing One direction fanfiction in 2014, I have attended a high school english class, and ingested a copious amount of SSRI's. This is the result.

He takes the same walk he does everyday. Past the bakery, around the corner, straight to the coffee shop on main. It's autopilot by now, muscle memory. Joe liked familiarity. It's comfortable. What's not comfortable is the car wreck blocking his path back. He grips his coffee in his left hand, lighting a cigarette with his right.

He decides to take a left onto a street lined with old buildings. Shoebox apartments above the shops below, string lights hung on fire exit balconies along with laundry lazily draped over railings.

The pizza parlor is just down the street, the swanky one with the same cook every night. He knows this street enough to get around but he's never truly paid attention enough to notice the small record shop perched between the metaphysics shop and tattoo parlor. But today, he does.

He notices it because he can hear his own music humming softly from inside. he smiles softly to himself, slowing down in his tracks to see the shop sign. It's a poorly lit neon sign that flickers the same way hope does for someone starting out in a new city. A city like this.

He walks inside the already open door, the scent of old wooden floors and vintage vinyl covers, like dusty books and artifacts, scuffed floors with scratches from heels and dog paws and glass, and a coffee somewhere on the counter. A record player in the window with his face on it, playing Lonesome is a State of Mind, spins slowly.

He's the only one inside.

Then, as if on cue, a woman walks out through an old, creaky door. Her hair down to her butt, dark as the feather on a raven, twisted like a wild stream flowing over pebbles. Eyes big as the moon, blue as sapphires, lined with faded makeup. Constellations on her skin, freckles like cities on a roadmap, just begging to be explored.

her eyes meet his, stopping in her tracks as she holds a crate of records on her hip. She smiles. And the twist of her lips is his undoing.

"You're late" She says with that undressing smile.

And she's right, his song is half over. How dare he walk inside late.

"You're playing my song" he says, lips turning upward, addicted to the idea of her.

"My song" She corrects. "My record. That I bought"

He exhales once, a single chuckle. She's right. She's always right. This he knows.

She goes behind the counter and picks up the mug of coffee. A single drop of the dark brown liquid racing its way down the white ceramic, running from her lips, like an addict running from heroin. That single drop knows she's dangerous.

Oh, to be that coffee.

His chest pulls him in, like she's got an invisible rope pulling him towards her. A siren in the treacherous waters. And by God, He's going to crash this ship right now.

"What's your name?" He forces out before she takes his breath.

"Y/n" She gifts him, wrapped in lace and ribbon.

He's quiet, Not because he's tongue-tied, no, but because there's nothing left to be said. The silence is familiar. The moment where he pretends to be asleep while his mother carries him inside from the car, because extending the moment is far better than ruining it by pretending he can do it all by himself. He can't. He needs her. A minute inside her shop and he needs her.

"What are you?" he whispers to her as if she's a figment of his imagination, a witch, a sorceress.

"Yours, if you want it"

Three steps and the ship is crashed. His mouth latching onto hers like a magnet. Pillow-soft honey and a coffee aftertaste like everything he's needed his whole life. Her lips curl up at the corners, a smirk of an incantation said right.

He doesn't do this, showing up in sirens shops and stealing her innocence. There was no innocence to begin with. She stole it the second he took his first breath in this world. It's always belonged to her. Like eons of existing in this realm, just waiting for her prey to tiptoe into her trap. It's his fault really.

Into the door they go, up a flight of creaky, wooden stairs, indented after years of feet who also crawled up into the trap. His jacket falls down the stairs once he takes it off, metal belt next, clanking against the wood as it drops.

Her shirt forgotten, melting over a couch in her apartment, bra looped around the doorknob of her bedroom, a trail of evidence to where she's led him to.

The mattress keeping secrets as it supports the tangle that is their bodies, flushed with need and hunger. His breaths come out as fast as they do in, mimicking the rhythm of her hips. Dragging slowly up and down the length of him. Eyes wide like a doe in the sight of a wolf, holding on for the last few second it's got alive.

Nails dragging down his torso, tracing sigils into his flesh, feeling the rise and fall of his chest below the pads of her fingertips. Her grip around him sucking him deeper into her trap between her legs, warm and addictive like all traps are before the kill.

Breasts decorating her chest like pillows which he hides his face in like backs of pews in a cathedral, chanting her name as the prayer. But she is not a god, and she shows no mercy.

The ache starts in his groin, spreading to his chest and clawing its way out of his limbs like a virus. The build of his death.

He takes his final gasp of air before drowning with his ship. The orgasm is his undoing. Unraveling him like a string tied thrice. Burning from the inside out, he comes with the same intensity as waves tearing his ship apart, swallowing it deep down to the trenches. All consuming.