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icallhimjoey · 1 year

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I've Got You

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and your flatmate have perfected the art of wingmanship for one another. It’s a great system that seems to work every single time, until you’re left unsatisfied.

CW / disclaimer: 18+, language, rpf, fem!reader, smut, angst

Author’s note: baby’s first smutty series - sorry if it’s bad! The insane reaction I got to part 4 was really unexpected and I loved every second of it - I really hope part 5 lives up to everyone's expectation!! Extra special thanks to my buddies @ghostinthebackofyourhead and @dirtyeddietini for inspiring, encouraging and being so very unbearably supportive for absolutely no reason: I love ya! (rewritten on 13 nov 2023)

Wordcount: 5.1K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe meant for you to talk to that girl for him. You scanned Joe’s face to see if he was joking. Hoped he was joking. Please, be joking.

But all you could see was drunken haziness in Joe’s eyes and you swore your vision coloured pure red for a second.

Oh no.

Feelings.

You managed to keep a fairly straight face, but you felt how anger washed over you. How it engulfed and swallowed you right up. You were seething. Absolutely livid.

Mostly at Joe, but you also felt some of it clawing at you inwardly. You were angry with yourself because, of course.

Of fucking course.

Why the fuck was this not what you had expected on this night out?

You were an idiot.

So was Joe.

But you, my God. You were the biggest idiot ever. But now was not the time to punish yourself. You'd just been given a task, hadn't you?

Your flatmate had seen a pretty girl he wanted you to talk to for him. To work your magic on her.

So, you clenched your jaw, and your expression went cold. You could almost feel the protection mechanisms within your body turn on to guard you, thick walls shooting up all around you as you turned away from Joe to walk over to the beautiful blonde girl in the corner.

With every step, you felt more outside of yourself, slightly more dazed, the loud music a little more muffled in your ears as everything went a little fuzzy, but, there was no mistaking. You were absolutely on your way to talk to this girl for Joe.

Just before you reached her, you looked back and saw that Joe was watching you. Your eyes almost let a little sadness slip through, and you hoped Joe didn’t catch it.

When you made eye contact with her, a moment you would normally use to display your best smile, you leant in and touched her arm, your face expressionless when you spoke to her.

She seemed kind and immediately ducked her head down and leant in a little to listen to you.

As you were talking, her eyes found Joe’s, and he smirked at her. Just for a moment, she smiled back at him, but then, her face contorted, and she leant back to look at you before leaning in to speak into your ear over the music.

Joe was watching the two of you talk to each other from afar, a little confused.

This wasn’t how this usually went.

You exchanged more words with the beautiful blonde, and Joe thought it was taking too long. It never took this long. Then, in a wild turn of events, he saw the girl pout at you, all empathetic eyes and scrunched up brows as she pulled you in for a hug.

Joe tried to make sense of what he was witnessing.

Couldn't.

He read your lips as you told her, “You’re welcome.” before you turned away and started on your way over back to Joe.

The beautiful blonde didn’t follow you, and Joe didn’t understand.

“What happened? What did you tell her?” Joe questioned when you were close enough.

“I’ve got the flat tonight,” you didn’t want to see him for a bit and claimed the flat just to have it for yourself.

You passed him and carried on your way towards the exit, face still just as flat and emotionless as it had been when you'd spoken to this random girl you'd never seen before. You would've remembered her if you had, you thought. She was the kind of pretty where you knew she'd look almost better first thing in the morning.

Of course Joe had picked her from the crowd.

Of course.

Yea, there was no way you were going to stay at the bar for any longer.

Fuck this evening.

You felt Joe’s fingers wrap around your wrist from behind you in a weak bid to make you stay, but you were quick to snag your arm away from him and didn’t bother looking back.

The whole way back to your flat, there was one thought that you couldn’t shake. There were many other thoughts, sure, like, Joe was a bastard, and also a knobhead… and a wanker, an idiot, a tosser, a twat, just– all of the above.

And you, you were an idiot, and also stupid… and foolish, naive, and gullible, because you’d unknowingly convinced yourself that there’d been more to you and Joe.

It had just been a week and you’d been dumb enough to now think that you were more than just flatmates who casually got each other off sometimes.

But the absolute worst thought, one that kept creeping back in no matter how much you tried to evict it from your brain permanently, was that you had feelings for Joe now.

Feelings.

For Joe!

Absolutely disgusting.

When you heard the front door to your flat open, you checked your phone and saw it was 4 o’clock in the morning. You weren’t entirely sure if you’d slept. It felt like your mind had just been racing thoughts, but they could’ve also been dreams. All you knew is that you felt awful, emotionally, but physically too, as you felt your hangover creep in in real time.

The way Joe moved into the flat was incredibly delicately done, like he didn’t want you to know that he was creeping in. The click of the door closing was almost undetectable from your spot in your bed, even with your bedroom door left ajar.

You had said that you had the flat, so technically, Joe should have at least texted to check if it was okay to come in.

But then again, Joe had probably also seen you leave by yourself a couple of hours earlier, so he must’ve gathered it was okay to come in. Or, he was just drunk, like you had been when you’d walked in hours earlier.

Come to think of it, you had a hard time recollecting your own stumbling into the flat if you were honest.

You could hear the soft ruffle of shoes being taken off and very carefully placed down onto the floor. It was followed by soft footsteps of socks that slid down your hall, the door to your bathroom then opening and closing before the light switch flicked on inside.

Why did Joe smell of pineapple?

And why were you able to smell it from your bedroom?

You listened as the shower turned on, the water clattering against the tiles, and you tried to focus on the white noise of it to help you drift off instead of the visual of Joe’s naked wet body in the room next to yours.

You stirred awake slightly when you felt your covers move on your left and the mattress dipping in.

“Hey,” Joe softly whispered and cuddled up behind you, like he so very often would do.

Your groggy mind momentarily chose to ignore every negative emotion towards your flatmate that had been brewing inside you and you relaxed under his arm that squeezed around your waist, pressing your bodies together.

Joe smelled like your shampoo, mixed with your body scrub. You could feel him move your hair aside, away from where his face then nuzzled into the crook of your neck, and you tried to hide the emotion that shot up into your throat unexpectedly.

But Joe had felt it – the small gasp, the quickened breathing, the tensing of your stomach; it was all too telling.

It only made him want to squeeze you into him tighter, but he didn’t get the chance to. Stubborn as you were, you refused to crack where Joe could see, so you moved away from his grasp.

“Don’t use my stuff in the shower.” You spoke into the dark and you used your hand to remove Joe’s from your waist, scooting over until your bodies were no longer touching.

For a few seconds it was eerily quiet behind you.

No movement, no breathing; like Joe wasn’t there for a second.

Then, you felt and heard him move, turning over in the bed to face away from you.

You spent maybe ten more minutes listening to Joe’s breathing before you decided you didn’t want to be there and got up and out to spend the last early morning hours fast asleep on the sofa.

For the next few days, you didn’t talk about it, because what was there to say? You avoided Joe like the plague because that way you could also avoid confronting your feelings, which was just easier, you thought.

It was annoying that you didn’t know Joe’s schedule, and that he spent a lot of time at home.

It was even more annoying that before anything had ever really happened between the two of you, you used to be flirty and touchy on a more platonic level and it was something you couldn’t muster yourself up to sink back into.

Joe tried a few times, asking you to have lunch with him that day, or when you found him making lasagna from scratch, asking you if you wanted some later.

You declined all of it, mostly without giving any excuses or reasons why. Just a simple “no thanks” with a polite smile, a nose scrunch, giving Joe your most normal, casual self, but definitely a more distant version of you than before.

Obviously, Joe had noticed. And he hadn’t liked it.

You had noticed something too.

There were a lot more annoying things about Joe that you didn’t think you had ever noticed before.

Joe would always leave his shoes under the coffee table, a place where they didn’t go, and it made the living room look a right mess. And Joe would hang the toilet paper under instead of over, so you’d correct it, only to later find it back the way he liked it. And Joe would still secretly use your products in the bathroom – you found a tube of lip balm you thought you’d lost in the washing machine after Joe had done a load of his washing, and it was almost entirely used up by him.

Maybe it was time to ask for a raise at work, just so you could afford a flat of your own, because every day more little things started getting on your nerves.

Wednesday seemed a day where everything had gone wrong at work, and all of it felt like it had been your fault. Frustrations built and as the day dragged on, you felt less and less equipped to deal with them.

From about 3 o’clock that afternoon, you’d started fantasizing about the pint of caramel core ice cream that was still in your freezer, and you hoped Joe would be out so you could watch an early 2000s romantic comedy and cry into your ice cream on the sofa.

You couldn’t think of anything else to ease the stress– wait, no, you could, but having your flatmate… crack your neck no longer felt like an option.

But when you walked in after work, Joe was there.

On the sofa.

Watching TV.

And the flat smelled like a bakery.

“Hey!” Joe shouted from the sofa, all upbeat and cheery. “How was work?”

You stepped into the living room whilst shrugging your coat from your shoulders.

“Fine,” you looked around and frowned quizzically.

“Did you bake bread?” your tone was almost accusatory, and it made Joe laugh.

His laugh was stupid and adorable.

You hated it.

“I made ciabatta rolls, they’re cooling in the kitchen.”

You turned to see for yourself and found about twelve perfect-looking hand-palm-sized baby ciabattas on a baking tray on the counter.

Funny how you got to slog knee-deep through shit at work all day, and Joe got to recreationally bake bread in your kitchen.

So fair.

Very equal.

Not at all infuriating.

It was also very fun how Joe left all of the washing up in the sink, when the dishwasher was empty and open right next to it.

You had to mentally count to ten and take a huge gulp of air to calm yourself down from the sight of the mess.

“What do you think?” Joe called from the sofa.

You eyed them again as you opened the freezer door.

“They look great,” you spoke without a fibre of enthusiasm.

You reached for your pint of ice cream, so ready to dig into it, even if it wasn’t going to be with a bad, sappy film on because Joe was there.

But when you grabbed hold of it, fury washed over you instantly and engulfed you entirely.

It was empty.

There was no weight to it.

You opened the pint to check, but you knew what you’d be met with before you’d seen the inside: an empty container that used to hold your favourite flavour of ice cream.

Joe.

“If they’re okay to touch, you could try one if you want,” Joe suggested, oblivious to the fact that you were near a lot of knives and ready to straight up murder someone.

Okay, knives felt a bit extreme, so instead, you reached for the next best thing.

“Would you like to try one yourself?!”

Your voice had grown louder and angrier with every word of your question. Joe didn’t have time to register the hostility in your voice – he didn’t even have time to turn his head to look at you. If he had done, you would’ve hit him square in the eye, but now, one of Joe’s own freshly baked crusty ciabatta rolls smacked him hard in the temple.

“Hey, what–”

Another dense ciabatta roll hit him in the chest, leaving behind a white, dusty flour print on his black T-shirt.

“Ate my fucking ice cream, Joe?!”

You were stood in the doorway, tray in one hand, the next roll ready to be flung at him in the other. Joe really made them the perfect size; they fit perfectly into your palm, fingers gripping around it with ease – excellent for throwing with force.

“My rolls!” Joe cried.

“My rolls!” you mocked him, facial expression and all, and you saw Joe get up from the sofa to fetch the bread you’d already thrown at him.

You threw another, getting flour in his hair this time as you hit him on the back of his head, surprising yourself with your good aim since your body felt shaky with adrenaline.

“What fucking self-centered, greedy bastard eats a pint of their flatmate’s favourite ice cream and then places the empty container back in the freezer?!”

You were quick to launch another roll his way, but Joe expertly caught it this time. It only angered you more, and you fumbled fast to throw another, but your aim was completely off this time as you rushed it, and you hit the sofa behind him.

“Stop fucking tossing my ciabatta rolls about!” Joe carefully placed them on the coffee table next to him.

“Honestly, I can’t fucking believe you,” you dropped the tray with the rest of Joe’s bread onto the floor in frustration. It clattered loudly and had bread rolling everywhere before you started to make your way over to your bedroom, away from his face, no longer able to stand it.

“Fuck you and– stop leaving your fucking shoes under the coffee table!” you screamed when you saw them as Joe stepped away towards the dropped ciabatta rolls to pick them up.

“I was looking forward to that ice cream all fucking day!” you stepped into the hallway, took a few steps, turned around and walked right back into the living room.

You had more to say.

“And another thing!” you were going to get every little bit of frustration out.

“Stop using up all of my products in the bathroom! Some of it’s really expensive!”

From his kneeling position, gathering all of the dropped bread rolls, Joe looked up at you and you spotted a faint red mark where you’d hit him with bread on the side of his face.

Good, you thought.

“And the fucking mess in the sink? The dishwasher is right next to it! Ready to be loaded up! Why would you– why would you not just– just, put it in there!”

You squeezed your eyes tightly shut as you let your arms flail about, motioning in all different directions.

“Are you done?”

“Caramel core, Joe. What is your problem?!”

You were ready to turn around and leave to go to your bedroom for real this time, but Joe stopped you.

“Are you finished?” his unrelentingly harsh tone of voice shut you up in an instant, and a little bit of the anger that shone out of your eyes was replaced with wary surprise.

Joe seemed angry too.

“Because first of all, I didn’t fucking eat your ice cream, what do you take me for?!” Joe repeatedly pushed his finger into his chest before gesturing at you.

“Secondly, I baked these today! Today! I baked them, by myself, with my own hands!” Joe talked about the ciabatta rolls like they were sacred treasures to be protected.

If you could get your hands on them again, you’d rip them all to shreds, just because now you knew it would hurt him extra.

For a moment you just stared at Joe, your nostrils flaring, thinking of more things to hurl his way now that he was stood there, ready to take it. There was an obvious thing you wanted to throw in his face, but you couldn’t muster up the courage to, so you just stood there and resisted the urge to stomp your foot like a fucking toddler as you huffed at him.

Joe suddenly seemed enraptured by your rage, and it was as if he had read your mind.

“... want to tell me what’s actually bothering you?”

He voice was much quieter than before, and you saw the beginnings of a smirk on Joe’s face. You hated how Joe was scanning you wholly, gathering up how pent up you really were in that moment as he stepped closer towards you.

It prompted you to take a step back.

“What’s really got you this riled up?”

You couldn’t speak as you found yourself stepping backwards into the kitchen with Joe slowly stalking forward.

Your eyebrows deepened your frown, scrunching together in anger even more, trying to reject the incoming thought of how hot you thought Joe looked.

“Are you trying to avoid me? Like you’ve been doing for fucking days?” Joe accused, and you saw a flash of what you thought might have been pain in his eyes as he bit into his bottom lip, and it hit you right in the chest.

“I’ve not been–” you tried to deny, but Joe took away your chance to speak, kissing you forcefully, running on nothing but adrenaline and want, crashing you into the kitchen counter behind you.

It felt like Joe wanted to devour you on the spot, and instead of pushing him away and slapping him across the face like you wanted to do, you realised you wanted to let the anger drown into Joe this way even more.

Joe was nothing but harsh, bruising touches, and you clawed back at Joe, scratching him and biting into his kiss. His grabbing hands squeezed into your waist strongly before one reached down to hoist up a thigh you wrapped around his body.

“I hate you so much,” you panted into his mouth as Joe’s nose pressed hard into your cheek. Your comment made one of his hands come up to grab your face, your cheeks pinched between his hand in a tight grip, and he pulled back to look at you.

He held you there a moment. Looked you in the eye. Scanned your features for a second.

And then, “Turn around.”.

His low gravelly voice, thick with hunger for you, made you do exactly as you were told. Your hands were quick to undo the button of your jeans, leaving Joe to pull them down with ease.

Yes.

Joe pushed you slightly, bending you over the counter, and as you turned your head to the side, you caught sight of all the dishes in the sink.

N– no.

“I’m not– I am not just another one of your hook-ups,” you warned him, your voice still thick with anger.

Look at how fucking messy Joe had left the kitchen.

“Neither am I,” Joe answered back just as quickly, fumbling out of his jeans behind you.

That shut you right up.

Joe slipped into you with ease, his front pressed tightly against your back as he bent over you, and he chuckled into your ear at how ready you seemed for him.

You couldn’t help but gasp at his intrusion. Joe’s arm came around your neck as he straightened himself and pulled you up with him until your head was leant back against his shoulder.

Made it a little hard to breathe.

You were sort of into it.

Shit.

Joe made sure to keep you there, arm firmly stuck in place and pressed at the underside of your neck with fingers dug into the cap of your shoulder. He wasn’t gentle in his movements, immediately starting a rough, steady pace into you whilst panting heavily into your ear.

“Want to tell me why you got six girls to drench me in their cocktails?”

You focussed solely on Joe’s thrusting, moaning at particular sharp ones, unable to answer a question you didn’t even have enough context for to understand properly.

“What did you tell her, huh?”

Joe meant the blonde, and you swore at him under your breath for bringing her up whilst having you half naked, pressed up against the counter in your dirty kitchen as the sound of loud skin-slapping filled the room.

“The truth,” was all you managed to get out, your voice all constricted, gasping for air.

“Yea? You think I don’t give girls my number because they don’t let me fuck their mouths?”

Oh.

You didn’t think she’d tell him that.

Then again, you didn’t even think she’d talk to him at all after your chat. Because Joe was right, that was what you had told her. You’d said to her that the guy that was staring at her from across the room was keen to take her home, but that she should know he was the type of guy to use her for his own pleasure and then wouldn’t even give her his number if she didn’t want to take his dick into her mouth.

“Is that why I had to walk around smelling like tropical fruit juice for hours?”

A laugh escaped your throat – you couldn’t help it. Was the wrong move, though.

It made Joe strengthen his grip around your neck in response, making you whimper immediately, your fingers finding his forearm to wrap around in a bid for him to loosen it.

Joe’s pace picked up too, as did his grunts, and you felt his other hand curl around your hip as fingers found your most sensitive spot to rub, making you moan loudly.

“Pineapple,” your strained voice slipped out. “You smelled of pineapple,” you remembered.

Joe’s opened lips dragged against the side of your face as you tilted your head back further. Still pressed against the hard line of his body, you turned your face and connected your lips with his in a heated kiss full of swallowed groans of pleasure.

Joe’s fingers rubbed against you furiously, the movements quickly becoming too much for you as you felt the familiar feeling of your orgasm deep within your core building up and flushing your cheeks.

You were about to announce to Joe that you weren't far off coming as one of your hands shot down to grab his wrist, but Joe’s unwavering thrusting and rubbing had you unexpectedly groaning through your high as he panted against your face, mouth agape, as was yours.

He didn’t even let you finish experiencing your orgasm fully.

Joe turned you around in his arms, slipping out of you for just a second, and before you were even aware of what was happening, he had you lifted with your legs wrapped around his hips.

He guided you back down onto him effortlessly, one arm strongly around your hips to keep you up, the other hand cradling the back of your head, fingers tangled up into your hair as he pushed you into his kiss.

You were ready for him to start ramming into you again, but instead, Joe started walking, taking you out of the kitchen and into the hallway. He was about to step into your bedroom, but you stuck an arm out that slapped against the wall, stopping you in your doorway.

“Don't go– we can't in mine. Yours. We need to in your bed,” you demanded, and you tried to push off from the wall in trying to guide Joe away from your bedroom and towards his own.

Joe wasn't having it.

“Fuck that. We’re ruining yours,” and Joe pushed forward, not leaving you a leg to stand on, literally and figuratively, as he let the both of you fall onto your mattress.

You expected Joe to continue with fury-filled thrusts, but you instead were met with a soft, teasing kiss and slow movements from his hips.

And, whatever had just gone down in the kitchen was nice, but this?

This was nicer.

When Joe tugged at your top, you momentarily broke from each other as you pulled it over your head. It was quickly followed by your bra, and Joe’s lips found your neck to press wet kisses into when you collapsed back onto the bed, now both fully naked.

You let your fingernails scrape long lines across his back, up and down in a slow pace, and you felt Joe squirm a little under your touch. The sudden shift in the mood left you space to think your thoughts freely, which is why you suddenly wondered...

“Why did you send me over to that girl to talk to her for you?”

Joe halted everything he was doing for a second to look you in the eye.

That wasn't something he expected you to ask him. Not right now, not during, anyway.

“You... you’d left me on my own for forty minutes,” he answered, then leant down a little, nuzzling his nose around yours, his tongue slipping out to lightly feather across your lips. He licked the teethmarks on your bottom lip that you left there. That he made you leave there.

“I thought you’d fucked off with someone else.”

You felt your stomach twisting in knots as your eyebrows pulled together.

“After last week? I could never,” you confessed, letting your hands run from Joe’s back up into his hair.

“No?” Joe sought your eyes again, sounded fucking hopeful as you used your hands to pull him back down into a kiss.

You felt him smile against your lips.

Such a sap.

Joe's turn to confess.

“I don’t give out my number because I have a hot flatmate I'm very fond of,” Joe then said, speaking into your mouth, and the dopamine-rush from his words would’ve toppled you over had you not been laid out under him.

Joe’s thrusts were slow and long, with hands finding your creases and curves to squeeze into softly.

His pace never picked up, remaining agonizingly slow, and he kept his hips closely connected with yours in his ruts, applying pressure exactly where you wanted it applied.

Joe took the time to study your face closely, seeing your face contort when hitting the right spots. You caught his eye, and upon seeing his expression, you immediately grew embarrassed.

Joe was giving it to you good, and it was almost upsetting how into it you were.

“It’s okay,” Joe cooed. “I’ve got you.”

He pressed his forehead against yours and you could almost feel the two of you fuse together within your eye-contact.

You really had to try your hardest to not absolutely ruin the moment and cry. You closed your eyes when it became too much, and Joe sensed it perfectly, dipping down to kiss your neck once more, having learnt by now that you really did like that a lot.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asked into your neck, and you shook your head in annoyance.

Could Joe not see how fucking romantic the two of you were being in this moment?

You gripped both hands firmly around his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you lifted your hips higher to let Joe hit an even deeper part of you. The new angle, and the way Joe never let much of you disconnect, hurdled you towards another orgasm. Joe followed closely behind, and he came with broken moans into your neck as his hips jerked and bucked throughout his orgasm.

After that, Joe didn’t move for a while, remaining inside of you, head in the crook of your neck with your fingers softly stroking lines along his back as he struggled to regulate his breathing.

When he finally did, he pulled back to look at you.

You looked... dishevelled.

Hair a mess, your eyes bleary and blinking with make-up smudged everywhere, face blotched and flushed but, your expression very satisfied.

Joe thought you had never looked prettier.

“I really didn’t eat your ice cream,” Joe broke the silence, and it pulled a giggle out of you before you groaned in shame.

“I think... I'm sorry, I think I ate it myself when I came home drunk that night,” you confessed with a guilty nose scrunch which prompted Joe to lean down and kiss it.

“Sorry.”

“I know it’s not what you wanted,” Joe pressed a kiss to your temple where he could see a faint tear stain run from your eye into your hair. “But I do have something else for you to eat...”

You made a face a Joe.

“Is it bread?”

Joe found the other side of your head, and kissed your temple there too.

“Freshly baked.” He quipped, eyebrows raised high up on his face, ignoring the fact that every single one of his ciabatta rolls had touched the floor by your doing.

He leant back a little to see you smile at him, to get a proper good look, prompting a wide grin to spread across his face too.

And, you know what?

“I’d love some.”

the end

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