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mrsjellymunson · 6 months

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Happy Halloween, Love ❤️

Pairing: Joseph Quinn x fem!reader

Summary: Joe raids the costume department at work and conspires to make this Halloween your most memorable yet.

WC: ~4.4k

CW: 🔞MDNI!🔞, NSFW, RPF, PWP, smut, porn with a little bit of plot, established relationship, role play, dressing up, slightly dom!JQ, choking (referenced), oral (everyone’s a winner), fingering, unprotected p-in-v sex (always wrap it irl), tiny bit of mutual masturbation, squirting, maybe a touch of overstimulation, Eddie and demons are referenced, pet names (numerous, including references to reader as a pet, minion and servant), no y/n or descriptions of reader’s appearance, demon fucking (sort of). Please lemme know if I’ve missed anything, and don’t read this if you’re uncomfortable with real-person fics or any of this content.

A/N: Inspired by the anonymous comment, “It’s as close as we can get to having Joseph Quinn dress up in the Eddie wig and have demon horns”, a scenario which got stuck in my head and wouldn’t leave. This might well be the only RPF I’ll write (they still weird me out a little). I hope this doesn’t put anyone off checking out my Eddie and Steddie stuff 😬 I wrote this fairly quick and it’s not beta-d. It’s also my first time sharing smut, so (constructive) feedback is most welcome!

You knock on the bedroom door gently, having slipped into your new outfit in the bathroom. Halloween season was always fun with your boyfriend Joe, both of you loving to dress up and create spooky scenarios that would inevitably lead to sexy shenanigans. You’d thought you were the only one dressing up tonight, but you were wrong.

Unbeknownst to you, Joe had raided the prop store at the studio he was currently working at, claiming he needed something for a Halloween party, and he had plans...

“Come in, darling.”

You open the bedroom door, sleeping in slowly, wanting to tease Joe with a slow reveal of the short, ivory satin robe you had on, something innocent-looking belying what was underneath.

A deep, velvet-smooth voice greets you, slowly murmuring, “Happy Halloween, my love.”

It’s Joe. Your Joe. Your kind, generous, loving and silly Joe, but there’s something else about him tonight, something you can’t quite place just yet.

He’s surprised you - the bedroom is dark, lit only by a pair of spice-scented red candles and a small, warm lamp. It’s intimate, but also somewhat lair-like, and the ambiance goes really well with the red and black skull-patterned bed linens you’d bought especially for this time of year. You love it.

Your eyes rake over your man, drinking him in. Clothes-wise he’s wearing nothing but a pair of snug black jeans and a studded belt.

Fuck, he looks so hot.

He’s looking down at the floor, hands clasped loosely behind his back, putting his delectable torso on display for you.

In addition, he’s wearing The Wig. That wig.

You’ve role played with this before; he knows how much you love Eddie’s luscious, chestnut locks, and how when he puts on the voice it all combines to rile you up. One time you even got some fake blackwork tattoos and put them on his arms and chest. That was a very fun evening.

But this time there’s more…

Amongst the curls he’s also wearing a pair of long, spiralling, ridged, red and black horns. They’re beautifully detailed. They nestle amongst the soft kinks, and the curls hide the ends of the horns and however they’re attached, making the effect all the more realistic.

God, he looks amazing.

You’re not can’t determine why he’s been looking at the floor since you came in. Is he being bashful? You’re confused, that doesn’t seem to fit the narrative…

Your question is answered when he slowly looks up at you, with a menacing, Kubrick-like stare.

He’s wearing contacts. Not just any contacts, but full-sclera, black contacts, completely obscuring his natural eyes.

You swallow, hard. Your fingers toy with the sides of the slinky robe you’re wearing, and you involuntarily squeeze your thighs together, trying to provide just a little friction to the area between them. Joe notices.

“Fuck Joe, I mean Eddie, you look-“

He cuts you off.

“There is no Joe here. No Eddie either. Only… your Master.”

You gasp at his voice, how it’s even deeper than usual and slightly menacing. You’ve always been impressed by the way he can control his voice, the timbre, volume, pitch, cadence. You’re momentarily distracted by how you’re not surprised he’s always been in acting work.

“Tell me you’re mine, my loyal minion.”

You’re broken abruptly from your reverie by Joe’s commanding tone, and you willingly play along, knees weakening and a pool of wetness forming surprisingly quickly in your underwear.

“Yes, my Master, all yours-”

You gasp as his strong hand reaches forward towards your throat, wrapping loosely around it. Not squeezing (not tonight, anyway), just demonstrating who’s in charge of this scenario.

Joe your Master smiles in that familiar way you know and love, but he keeps the sinister stare, giving everything a much darker edge.

“Well done, my precious. Now, would you like to have some fun with your Master?”

You bring one hand up from your side and gently drag the the tips of your fingernails along the inside of his forearm, a place you know is sensitive.

He breathes in quickly through his nose, trying to stifle a gasp, though you hear it. His grip on your neck tightens ever so slightly, and he tilts his chin up, narrowing his eyes and looking down his nose at you.

You surprise yourself as you reply, “Yes Master, I’m yours to command.”

Ever the consummate professional, none of Joe’s excited internal monologue shows, and he simply looks at you and murmurs, stretching out the syllables,

“Good girl...”

That’s it, you’re gone. He could do almost literally anything to you right now and you most likely wouldn’t stop him. You let out a small whimper.

Even with the dim light and the darkness of his denim, you can see the bulge in your Master’s jeans.

Releasing your throat, he moves his hand to the back of your neck, gripping firmly but not harshly, bending towards you and pulling your face to his. He crashes his lips against yours, pushing his tongue into your mouth in a passionate, messy kiss, which you eagerly return.

Breaking the kiss, he grins at you again, before removing his hand from your neck and flicking the edge of your robe near your collarbone.

“Take this off.”

You obey, slowly undoing the robe and slipping it off your shoulders. As the fabric slips to the floor you’re left in nothing but the new set that you bought especially for tonight.

Joe’s eyes caress your form, taking in the sheer, red, rose-patterned lace decorated with tiny bows.

But what’s really catching his eye is the fact that your bra is peek-a-boo style, and the ribbon ties are already undone, your nipples on display.

He hisses an inhale, and runs a thumb pad gently over one of your hardening nipples.

“This all for me?”

“Yes, Master, only for you.”

He takes a step towards you and glances to your panties.

“Are these…?”

“Crotchless? Yes, Master.”

He lets out an involuntary growl and brings his other hand to your core, pushing one finger between your thighs and swiping its tip through your already-damp folds.

Feeling your wetness he can’t help but drop his head back and moan.

It gives you a perfect view of his gorgeous neck, and you want to lick it, like you have so many times before.

Seeing Joe dressed up like this and regarding you with such obvious hunger leaves your whole body tingling, and the anticipation of him touching you more makes you feel like tinder about to combust.

You need him to have fewer clothes on too.

Biting your lip, you slowly bring a hand up between you and trace your fingertips over his solid torso, tracing shapes on his skin, touching the fine, soft hair and moving down towards his happy trail, finishing at his belt line. As your fingers reach his belt buckle, you ask,

“Please, Master, may I..?”

Your Master drops his hands to his sides and, with a lascivious grin, tongue peeping out at one corner running over his teeth, he gives you a tiny nod.

You undo his belt and jeans, running your hands inside the fabric and around his abdomen until you get to his hips. He’s not wearing anything underneath, just how he knows you like it.

You push the fabric downwards, dropping to your knees as you go, just how you know he likes it.

His cock springs free and slaps against his abdomen, fully hard already, and you drool at the sight.

Stepping out of his clothing, he positions himself in front of you, abs tensed and legs slightly apart, looking down at you with those completely black eyes, a curtain of dark curls framing his face.

“What are you gonna do for me, my servant?”

“Whatever you want me to, Master.”

You stick out your tongue as far as you can and languorously lick a broad stripe from his balls up the base and shaft of his cock, past his frenulum and all the way to the tip, where you pause at his slit, swirling your tongue and collecting a bead of precum that’s collected there.

Glancing up again, you notice he’s pursed his lips and his breathing has become uneven, all signs you’ve learnt are indicative of him enjoying what you’re doing.

Lifting both hands you gently grasp his base with one, pulling his tip slightly towards you, and caress his balls with the other, as you open your mouth and slide slowly down his length. Pausing after a couple of inches you return the other way, repeating and going further each time until your lips are touching the fingers you have wrapped around him.

He’s fully panting now, lips parted and brows gently furrowed.

“Fuck, precious, you’re gonna fucking kill me one day.”

Taking this as an indication to continue, you hollow your cheeks and suck, earning you a deep moan from his chest.

You move up and down at a slightly faster pace, sucking and licking, enjoying having your face stuffed full of him, until he’s suddenly grasping your chin and pulling you up towards him. His cock leaves your mouth with a soft pop, and you’re soon standing in front of him, eyes locked. Gruffly, he mutters,

“That’s too good, sweetheart, and I’ve got plans for you. Get on the bed.”

You obey, sitting your bottom on the edge of the bed and shuffling backwards until you’re in the centre, leaning back on your elbows.

He climbs on behind you, and using his hands and his knees he roughly pushes your knees and thighs apart, slotting himself between them.

He bends low towards your thighs, inhaling deeply and pausing for a moment, humming and enjoying the scent of your arousal.

At any other time you might be embarrassed, but his behaviour fits so well with the whole demon vibe and you find yourself heating up even more at the action.

He exhales a long, hot breath, which fans over your core, tantalising you further.

Dropping his upper body between your legs, he lets out a series of low growls as he sucks wet, biting kisses up your inner thighs, pausing occasionally to suck hard on the soft flesh. You moan at the sensation, wondering if he’ll leave bruises, excited by the idea that he might.

You use the opportunity to touch the horns for the first time, feeling the details and ridges, enjoying the contrast with the soft, flowing curls.

He eventually reaches your centre, and marvels at the lingerie framing your delicate, glistening folds.

With a gruff, animalistic hum he licks a stripe from your shining hole all the way up to your begging clit. You cry out, the most sensitive part of you finally receiving the attention it’s been craving.

Wasting no more time, he sticks his tongue out as far as it will go and pushes it inside you, moving and licking and devouring you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

You watch him with hooded eyes, trying to sear the image of this demon-god between your legs into your mind, before your arms give out and you flop backwards onto the bed, just about managing to vocalise,

“More, Master, want more of you.”

He takes the hint, bringing one hand up and pushing two fingers easily inside you, and moving his mouth to lick and suckle at your clit. You moan loudly, pushing your hips down the bed and grinding into his hand and face. He moans at this, and the vibrations start to drive you towards your peak.

He chooses this moment to curl his fingers towards your front wall, hitting that spot inside you perfectly, and you begin to see stars. He keeps up his ministrations, your moans eventually turning to wails as he gradually increases the pressure on your clit, and you can hold off no longer. Your vision turns black, your limbs lock, and for a moment you stop breathing, a bubble of euphoria bursting within you as you come undone with a scream.

He reduces the pressure on your clit but doesn’t stop, forcing you to ride out aftershock after aftershock on his face. Eventually he removes his fingers from your swollen cunt, replacing them momentarily with his tongue, before pulling off entirely. Looking down at you he lets out a feral growl. Licking his lips, he wipes his chin with the back of his hand before licking it clean, before muttering,

“Fuck, so fucking beautiful…”

As soon as he thinks you can manage, he’s pulling at one hip, assisting more than forcing, as he says, “Turn over, baby, stick that beautiful ass in the air for me.”

You do your best to manoeuvre onto your front, keeping your face and chest on the mattress and putting your knees on the bed, lifting your butt. He kneels behind you, parting your knees a little further, running his hands over the globes of your ass, fully exposed and framed prettily by your red thong.

He lets out another, “SO fucking beautiful”, before slapping one palm hard cross one cheek, making you whimper, immediately moving in to kiss the stinging flesh, laving it with his lips and tongue.

He notches his tip at your hole, and, remaining in character, murmurs, “I’ve gotta fucking have you, my beautiful little -uh- pet!”

On the last word he sheathes himself fully inside you, no consideration given for the usually slow and gradual way he’d enter you, animal passion taking over and both of you more than ready.

You groan loudly as he bottoms out, adoring the feeling of him filling you up and how he rearranges your insides every time he does.

He moans as he remains seated within you for a few moments, groaning gutturally and gripping your hips harshly.

You don’t have much of a respite, as after only a moment of acclimation he’s setting a brutal pace, pumping in and out of you with feral force and abandon, wet and breathy sounds filling the room, his cock jolting your cervix with every thrust.

He starts to mutter almost unintelligible phrases in his demonic voice, but you make out,

“So fucking perfect, so fucking good for me, taking me like the cockvessel you are, my good little minion, my pet, my beautiful, beautiful pet.”

It’s all so exquisitely overwhelming, and you start wailing into your pillow.

He chooses this moment to slip one hand around to your front, immediately finding your sensitive, sopping wet bud and pressing small, form circles into it.

This brings you almost immediately to another precipice, and you cry out, “Ohgodohgodohgod!”

You can feel yourself clench down on his length, and he growls out,

“Jeezus fucking christ, squeezing me so tight, fuck!”

Euphoria washes over you again, a tingling heat beginning in your pelvis and spreading through your entire body. You go limp, but your Master holds you to him with one strong forearm, fingers continuing to circle your clit until you move and twitch, body trying to deal with the dissonance of wanting to get away from the overstimulation but enjoying the aftershocks.

As he continues to help you ride out your second orgasm he’s desperately trying to stave off his own, and eventually pulls out abruptly, your sweat mingling as he rests his forehead on your ass, breathing deeply.

You whine at the sudden emptiness and loss of contact, but are grateful for the opportunity to slump onto your side, enjoying the potential for a short rest.

He comes to lie behind you (if you’re honest, one of your favourite positions in which to get railed), but you realise something.

“No Master, not from this angle. There’s no point in you looking like that if I don’t get to enjoy it.”

Growling again (and seeing your logic) he deftly flips you over onto your back, slotting himself between your plush thighs, tip nudging your entrance as he stares into your face.

He moves both of your arms above your head, running his hands up the soft skin of the undersides and holding them there, hands clasping your wrists and pushing them into the mattress.

He seems to consider something for a moment.

“Hmm, I haven’t given these lovely tits nearly enough attention, my love. Especially considering you decorated them so prettily for me.”

That lascivious smirk is back, and with his free hand he opens the slit in the lace on one side and hums as he licks the flat of his wet tongue over one nipple. As he moves away he lets out a sigh through his nose, cooling the flesh delightfully and causing your already hard nipple to peak even more.

He massages each breast with his free hand, but decides that’s not enough, so commands you to, “Keep those there for me, my pet”, letting go of your wrists and starting to use both of his hands on your soft mounds. He’s enjoying pushing his fingers under the holes in the lace, pushing it to the side to expose your soft flesh, squeezing and squashing, pinching your nipples and licking and sucking on your sensitive nubs. You arch your back and moan with delight at the sensations.

Eventually satisfied that he’s given your tits enough attention, he licks a wet stripe all the way from your sternum, up the side of your neck all the way to your jaw, making you shiver in delight and anticipation.

He hovers over you, tips of his curls tickling your forehead. He plunges his tongue inside your mouth again in another passionate kiss, and you can taste the musk and salt from your own skin combined with the unique taste of him.

He returns his focus to getting himself seated inside of you again. He leans forward, holding your wrists with one hand, with the other lining his member up with your hole as he moves his hips forwards.

He slowly slides into you, filling you up yet again. He fucks you slow but ever so deep, the languid pace a welcome change that allows you to feel every vein and ridge of him against your sensitive walls. You’re both trembling, all of your nerves alive with sensitivity.

“Like me fucking you like this, my pet? Want your Master to -mmm- make you cum again?”

Though you know without doubt that would be an absolutely delectable option, you decide you want to do something for him now.

“I want to be good for you, Master. I want to sit on you, wanna ride you so bad.”

His eyes widen and that signature grin spreads across his face.

“Well, what my pet wants, my pet gets, doesn’t she?”

He slowly pulls out of you and releases your wrists, and in an attempt to conceal his excitement, languidly moves up the bed to lounge on a pile of collected red and black, silk and fur pillows. Abs tensed, knees spread wide and slightly bent, cock in hand and giving every appearance of being cocky and arrogant, he’s the perfect vision of a commanding demon. He’s sitting like he’s on a throne, like he deserves this. It drives you wild.

He lazily tugs at himself as he watches you crawl up the bed towards him, though he furrows his brow slightly as you pause halfway to sit on your heels, knees wide apart, displaying yourself for him.

“What’re you doing, my pet?”

You start touching yourself, parting your folds and sinking a finger easily into your dripping cunt, your free hand coming to massage one nipple.

His eyes widen and his mouth opens slightly, and you see his grip on his dick get tighter. You know he loves to watch.

You mumble, as innocently as you can,

“I couldn’t wait, Master.”

He watches for a few moments, entranced, but then remembers what’s on offer and points to his lap, raising his voice a little, aggressively muttering,

“Get up here, minion. Obey your Master!”

His domineering tone sends tingles up your spine and to your core, and you instantly comply, clambering the rest of the way up the bed and straddling his hips.

He holds his cock steady underneath you, running it over your slit, the wet noises exciting you even more.

You place your hands onto his shoulders, stabilising yourself. You take another moment to admire his outfit and presence, holding his gaze before starting to sink down onto him.

As you seat yourself into him fully, that delicious stretch and feeling of fullness returns. You take a moment to enjoy it, before starting to move, lifting up, slowly at first and not too far, before lowering yourself back down. He’s at a fantastic angle, and feeling him so far inside you is intense. You whine out,

“Fuck, Master, you’re so deep…”

He bends his legs behind you and plants both feet on the bed, encouraging you to prop yourself against them. He knows you love to lean back, giving him not only a delicious new angle but also an exquisite view of your tits jiggling as you move, and it also gives him purchase to occasionally buck his hips and slam into you from below.

He’s full-on panting again, and, huffing, he breathes out,

“That’s my good little pet, fucking me so well. You gonna make us both cum, my sweet little thing?”

Wanting to do a good job, you use your thighs to bounce up and down on him, his cock hitting that spot inside you and rocketing you towards yet another high. He’s grabbing at your tits, your ass, your hips, anywhere he can reach, grumbling and growling and clearly desperate to feel every inch of you.

His pelvis is hitting your clit in just the right way, but you need more, and you grab one of his hands and bring it to your front. He immediately begins rubbing his thumb against your clit, and you start to whimper, already close. Before you lose the power of speech he asks,

“Do you trust your Master, baby? Gonna let me try something?”

You trust him implicitly and, although you have no idea what he has in mind, you nod. He moves one hand to your sacrum, stabilising you. The other thumb continues circling your clit, but he pushes the flat of that hand against your belly, like he sometimes does when he wants to feel himself inside of you, except this time there’s more pressure.

You’re rolling your hips against him now, all the different sensations combining to bring you closer to your release. You can hear him panting too, feel him tensing, and you know he’s not far off either. But there seems to be a different kind of pressure building in your abdomen.

You try to say something, but full sentences won’t come out. All you can manage is parts of words, like, “Wait-, no-, someth-, it’s diff-, oh fu-“

Unable to control anything anymore, your release washes over you in a searing wave, but there’s something else too - you feel a hot, wet gush coming from you and soaking his hand, wrist and abdomen.

Unable to process what’s just happened, you simply look at him, open-mouthed but still euphoric.

That’s it for him, he can’t hold off anymore and his release hits him, hard. He pulls your hips down onto him at the same time he slams up into you, face slack and breathing ragged, and you feel his hot, sweet release paint your insides, simultaneously letting out a long, low, broken groan.

Unable to process anything else, his eyes close and his head drops back against the headboard. You get another glimpse of that delicious neck, and run your hands over it and his collarbones as he comes down. He always looks so beautiful like this.

You both need a moment to let your heart rate and breathing come back to some semblance of normal. Evaporating sweat leaves you both with delicate goosebumps on some of your exposed skin, but the change in temperature is welcome.

You’re the first to speak as you look down at his wet belly and ask,

“Uh, Joe. What the fuck was that?”

His face turns slightly pink as, voice back to normal, he bashfully admits,

“I, um, just wanted to see if I could make you squirt, that’s all.”

He looks a little sheepish as he continues, slightly concerned,

“Was it ok? I mean, did you hate it?”

“God no, it felt… amazing! Just, y’know, maybe warn me next time?”

“Of course my sweet. Anything for my baby.”

He plants some wet kisses across your cheeks.

As if wanting to illustrate how much he enjoyed it, he brings his wet hand up to his mouth, sucks his fingers, and slowly shakes his head in delight as he adds,

“Mmm-mm, it was really fucking hot though!”

You slap his chest playfully, rolling off him to settle in the crook of his arm, your head against his chest, running a hand up and down it.

Ever the considerate lover, after a few moments he inquires,

“How was it overall, baby? Did you enjoy it?”

Full of endorphins and the love of your man, you gush,

“Fuck yes, Joe, it was incredible.” As you toy with some of the ends of the wig, you add, “Thank you so much for doing this for me. For us.”

He replies, “Oh love, it was, and I mean this quite literally, my absolute pleasure. I’m such a fucking lucky bastard.”

You both giggle a little at this. Joe delicately removes the horns and wig, laying them reverently on your bedside table so as not to tangle or damage them, another testament to his devotion to his craft, and you snuggle into each other, continuing to murmur sweet nothings and enjoying the afterglow.

After a few minutes Joe admits, “Sorry, I’ve got to take these bloody things out babe, they’re really sodding uncomfortable.”

You both laugh again, as he rises from your shared bed and makes his way to the bathroom to remove the contacts, returning with a warm washcloth, which you take gratefully. As you clean up he picks up the horns, examining them and twisting his fingers around what you now see is a sturdy headband.

He takes the washcloth from you, retuning it to the bathroom. As he comes to sit by you on the bed once more, you spy a small smirk on his lips. You know that look, devious yet playful. He’s got some kind of plan.

“What is it, my treasure?”, you goad, using your fingertips to gently tickle his happy trail and tease at his exposed belly.

He replies,

“I was just thinking, next time, maybe you could wear the horns…?”

Thanks so much for reading!

Comments and reblogs make my world spin, please let me know what you think!

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stellatekintsugi · 1 year

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Joseph Quinn

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girlblogger666 · 2 years

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Congrats Joe on the tonight show! Here this is for uuu

It was around 3am when your phone lit up and stirred you from your slumber, the contact name “hubby” flashed across the screen.

Groggily rubbing your eyes, you reached for your phone beside you and picked up.

“Baby!” Your boyfriend on the other end of the line shouted, sounded very hyper for how late it was.

Though you were in different time zones, it was still very late for where Joe was currently residing—or partying it seemed.

“Hi,” you groaned, really wishing you could be catching up on your sleep, but you were glad to finally be hearing his voice.

“Shit,” he laughed, “was my angel sleeping?”

He was definitely drunk and you wished you could be there to experience it firsthand.

“I was, but I’m glad you called, honey.”

“Of course,” you could picture the smile on his face. “Did I look sexy on television?”

You chuckled, loving his charm. “Why yes, I was nearly drooling over you in that suit!”

That was true.

He looked so handsome walking out on that stage, you were so proud to be his.

“Be sure to fuck you in it, love,” he growled into the phone, revealing how much he wanted you.

Though you were super flattered by the sentiment, you were awfully too exhausted to keep the sexy talk flowing. Instead, you were more focused on his surroundings and who might’ve heard what he said.

“Baby,” you asked, “where uh exactly are you?”

“Pffft, oh you know, just in a bar with lotsss o people,” he was slipping on his words, the alcohol going straight to his head.

“Ah, well you best stay safe,” you replied, not wanting anything to happen to your lover while you were miles apart.

“I will only ‘cause I’ve got my lady to get back to,” he gushed.

“Alright baby,” you cooed as a yawn escaped from your mouth. “I’m gonna go back to bed, but text me in the morning.”

“Boooooo,” he pouted, wanting to stay on the phone longer. “Okay sweetie, love ya.”

“Love you more,” you said as you heard the sound of a smooch come from his end, smiling as you hung up.

You could not be more eager for him to come home and wear that damn suit.

#so PROUD OF HIM #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn rpf #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x reader #joesph quinn #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader

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ericaand · 9 months

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Premiere

Characters: Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Joe just got back to your hotel room after the premiere of Hoard, and winding down after a night like that is hard.

Word Count: 450+

Warnings: None. Fluff.

A/N: The lovely @ali-r3n posted this and I thought it'd make a great little one-shot.

MASTERLIST

Joseph slides the card inside the tiny slot, as the clicking sounds of the door unlock. You both waltz inside, so excited and hyper from everything that happened that night. Meeting new people, being treated like you were someone extraordinary, and watching your boyfriend continue to fulfill his dream. It was a magical night, indeed.

He firmly grasps the side of your waist and snakes his arm around your back, pulling you so you're chest to chest. His brown eyes never cease to amaze you, because they sparkle in every light.

"I love you so much." You drape your arms around his neck and rest your head on his chest. "I had such an amazing night. And you were so amazing."

"Thank you, gorgeous. But you were the amazing one. You did so well; you didn't seem nervous at all." He kisses the top of your head and releases you.

He walks over to the bed, aligns the back of his knees to it, and opens his arms wide as he crashes onto the bed. He runs his hands through his curls and begins to laugh so hard that you can't help but do the same.

You grip either side of your dress and begin to twirl it from side to side, allowing it to flow and dance as you wander over to the side of the bed; kicking off your shoes as you go.

"What's so funny?" You ask.

"I just can't believe this is real life. This is my life. Our life."

You step onto the bed, and sink deep into the pillowy mattress; bending down, reaching your hands out to Joe. He glances up and the corners of his mouth begin to rise, giving way to his laugh lines.

You begin to jump, as your hair and dress bounce up and down right along with you. "Come on!" You shout.

Joseph gets on his feet and takes your hands, as he begins to jump with you. Locking eyes, jumping in sync. Feeling so happy that all you needed was pixie dust and you two would simply fly away.

"What're we doing?!" Joe exclaimed in between giggles and your squeals. You shook your head, with wide eyes and a shrug.

Panting, you completed a final jump, landing on your back. Joseph stood still, kneeled, and straddled you.

He cupped his face in his hand and shook his head. "I'm so lucky to have you. I dunno what I could've done so right."

You propped yourself on your elbows and jutted your head towards him, with puckered lips. He wasted no time as he leaned down and planted a short, gentle kiss.

"I'm hungry." You remarked, with pouted lips and doe eyes.

Joe slipped off of you, planting his feet firmly on the floor. He situated one hand behind his back, and the other folded in front of his stomach, as he folded forward.

"Your wish is my command. Anything for you, darling."

#joseph quinn #joe quinn #joseph #quinn #joe #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn rpf #joseph quinn oneshot #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things s4 #stranger things #hoard movie #hoard #movie premiere

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jo-harrington · 3 months

Note

so teeth? really?

Anon...yeah teeth? I'm weird, I'm here for the weirdos.

I've decided recently that I'm going to be a certain actor who shall only be named in the tags arch nemesis. If there's no one out there talking about his false teeth and his stained nails and his disgusting capitalist tendencies, it means I'm dead.

So in honor of a certain someone who'll only be named in the tags 30th birthday, please enjoy the sequel to this weird RPF.

Pairing: Disgusting 30-year old capitalist B-lister who's lucking out on his career x CorporateBadass!Fem!Reader

TW: RPF, Smut, jealousy, a little angst, a little degradation, and he's gross

Tagging @courtingchaos @deathbecomesthem @dr-aculaaa and @tomtomslongdong @bettyfrommars because you liked my games last time.

18+ WEIRDOS ENJOY! NORMIES STAY OUT.

It came in an email.

It always did.

Forwarded from your work email to your personal email, then forwarded onto his with several question marks. No phone numbers, no WhatsApp. An occasional GChat if you had trouble compromising over different time zones. But generally, your interactions were limited to a familiar face in an unfamiliar place; not casual conversation during normal, every day life.

You joked once, in an Uber on the way to the airport as you were fixing your disheveled clothes after a quickie before check-out, that you might as well sync your google calendars and that…seemed pretty appealing to him, if only someone else didn’t handle his calendar for him.

“Must be nice,” you joked. “Big important star with an assistant.”

“It’s one of my manager’s assistant,” he argued. “And you have an assistant too.”

“It’s an admin for the department. And they only book the travel. They don’t manage individual calendars. Sorry I’m a peasant dragging my cadaver up the corporate ladder.”

Regardless, he woke up to your email one morning—some remnant of your personality from a former life—at the top of his inbox with the word “London???” above an itinerary for two weeks of franchise meetings and property tours around the city he called home.

His city. No coincidences, no “accidental” run-ins at LAX or JFK that the two of you bent in your favor. You were coming for to him. During a week that he otherwise had no plans.

He acted on impulse. Perhaps a little desperately. Especially considering how little he knew you.

“If you want, you can just stay here. I have plenty of room. You’ll have your space. Pretend it’s a VRBO for the week.”

Realization hit him once he hit send. Dread.

Invite you to stay at his house, a house that he was just settling in to being a home. Where all of his things were, where he had pictures of family and friends.

His house.

Where he was someone and not no one.

He hoped that you would realize the impropriety—as improper as it could be after he’d stuck his cock in you more times than he could count at this point—and be the more level-headed of the two of you, as you usually were, and decline the offer.

It took 48 hours for you to respond.

He thought that meant he was in the clear.

Until your reply blipped in his inbox between emails containing sides for self tapes and negotiations for his next potential public appearance.

“Great, thanks. I won’t take up too much space. I’ll barely be there.”

Followed by the airplane emoji and the sleep emoji.

He got irrationally angry for a moment.

How could you do this? How could you cross this boundary? Partial anonymity…that’s what you both agreed on and here you were…suddenly reneging on that agreement.

Invading his space.

Only you weren’t invading, he invited you in.

Invited you to know Joe a little more than you knew Joseph.

And he could know you too.

He missed getting to know people; he chose not to know people. He knew enough people.

Now he’d get the chance to get to know you.

You’d be here in a week.

And suddenly you were.

Not an email away. Just there.

You sent him a WhatsApp from the car—a necessity now that you’d be with him for a prolonged time—double checking his street. Then suddenly you were ringing the bell.

He went over the mental to-do list that he’d made ahead of your arrival—schedule planned so he’d be available if you wanted or needed him anything, the cleaning service came through, groceries were delivered, and he’d even got flowers for your room…just a nice little thing he thought of—and then he opened the door.

It had been awkward, the initial greeting.

It wasn’t like your typical hotel room rendezvous. It wasn’t straight to business. You both just stood there staring.

“Consider me a vampire,” you joked, slightly jet lagged and weary since you had gone to meetings straight away after you’d landed. “I need to be invited to come in.”

“Of course,” he stepped to the side to let you in. “Make yourself at home.”

You let him carry your suitcase and shoulder your backpack as he led you straight to the guest room. Then you touched his cheek fondly, thanked him…and promptly shut the door in his face so you could sleep.

Well…he at least thought he was going to get something more than that.

But he didn’t get much more than that. For almost an entire week.

At first it was fine. You were busy, and so was he.

He made (ordered) breakfast for the two of you for the first morning. You grabbed tea and a biscuit (“when in Rome…yes I know…but this was part of the Roman Empire so…No I thought it was funny Joseph ok see you later then”) and ordered an Uber to make it to your first walkthrough of the day. He had a copy of your schedule in his email, made sure to run his errands, make his appointments, and hang out with friends while you were busy so he could be there when it was time for you to return at the end of the day. Only to get another peck on the cheek and be thoroughly ignored as you trudged off to bed.

He felt a little bad. He knew those days where they just never seemed to end; come back to wherever he’d been put up only to check his phone and pass out.

Then he’d hear you around midnight, waking up from a dead sleep and tapping away at your keyboard. Sending communication to your boss or your team or whoever else back home. He didn’t know if you knew he was awake, or if you would venture out of the guest room to find him or get a drink…something. But you never did. Didn’t roam around, didn’t even chat him on WhatsApp; you just clicked away until the clicking stopped and you passed out again.

That’s when he got annoyed.

Because he’d been patient enough; he waited. Waited for something for those first few days. Some kind of sign that you were here with him. He’d sit and watch the telly, pick something from netflix or YouTube, read a book waiting for you to say more than hello to him when he opened the door for you. Have a conversation with him. Something! Sure that wasn’t really how the two of you operated, but even when he still had a roommate and they lived a very separate schedule there was at least a “hey mate, how’d the day go” and it gnawed at his insides that you couldn’t even be bothered.

Who were you? Just some no one, playing at possibly having an executive position one day.

And who was he? He was Joseph Quinn. Eddie fucking Munson, as much as he loathed it. He had people screaming for him, screaming his name. You even screamed his name from time to time.

Just not now.

Was he even going to get to fuck you at the end of this torture? Probably not. You’d be off to Heathrow to catch your flight back home with a simple peck on the cheek and a pat on the head.

“Good boy Joseph, letting me stay in your guest room, thank you for the red carpet treatment.”

So after three days of radio silence, he stopped playing such a gracious host. You insisted that you weren’t even there? He would act like you weren’t.

He stopped living his life around your schedule, left you a spare key so he wouldn’t have to make a fool of himself and open the door for you. Got dinner with his friends, drinks with some people his manager wanted him to meet, all on his own time.

He did exactly what did, he ignored you.

And that’s what got your attention, or so it seemed.

He saw you “in the wild” a bit more. You and your American lean against the bar at the pub he frequented, wine glass in hand as you chatted with someone in a suit; he decided he’d rather get a beer somewhere else that night. Came home late from a friend’s party on Friday to find you in the kitchen, with a sandwich, going over some contract. You waved at him, maybe a hello or to get him to join you, but he just walked away. Woke up late the next morning to find you actually sitting on his couch with coffee in one hand and phone in another. Your eyes brightened a little when you saw him.

“Morning! I have an appointment at 1, but…dinner?” You asked. “I’m getting so sick of cateri—“

“M’busy,” he cut you off. He didn’t like the way you just nodded, just pressed your lips together accepted it. The way his plans meant nothing. Still, you were out here. Instead of in your room…or just gone.

“Maybe tomorrow night?” He offered, a little more gently.

“Sounds good.” He smiled. “I’ll put it on my calendar.” And the smile went away again, and so did he.

You put him on your calendar like another business appointment; he shouldn’t have felt bad about it, it’s what you always did when you met up in one city or another…but he did. Because this wasn’t “make a run-in happen” this was a meal with the person whose house you were living in for two weeks.

He probably should have asked someone if he was overreacting—probably should have asked you to be honest—but who could he ask? His friends didn’t know about you; they gave him enough shit about his current situation as it was, let alone some American airport fling. Couldn’t exactly tell his manager, they’d have you in to sign an NDA or something; all of the times he planned his travel around “running into you,” he just said it was meeting up with a friend.

So let the feeling stew in his head all day. He came home late again Saturday night to avoid you, and stayed out the entire day Sunday, missing the time you’d made for him on your calendar. Good riddance.

Until he rolled in at 1am, well on his way back to sober after a night out, to find you sitting on his couch, some YouTube chef on the telly, Diet Coke in hand, and his takeaway box of leftovers from dinner the night before on the coffee table.

“That was mine,” he accused. No greeting, just fire as he walked over and looked at the remnants of his gnocchi carbonara.

“It was really tasty,” you nodded.

“I know, because it was mine.” He scoffed and crossed his arm over his chest. “You know if you were really hungry, there’s plenty of other food in the kitchen. Or you could’ve gotten a sausage roll or something. Ever heard of Uber Eats?”

“No I ate your pasta because you told me once that you don’t eat leftovers but you always felt bad that they’d just go in the garbage at the restaurant,” you explained calmly. A little too calmly. “Instead they’d just go in the garbage here. So I enjoyed your scraps, cold, like a peasant, oh King Joseph, most conceited and decadent of all. Because you forgot we had plans for dinner.”

“S’that what we had? Plans?”

“Yeah, I blocked off time for you and everything.”

“Talk about most conceited,” he grabbed the takeaway box and started walking towards the kitchen to dispose of it and this conversation, but you were hot on his heels.

“Excuse me what was that?”

“You heard me, conceited,” he threw the box in the bin and then turned back towards you. “Lemme pencil you in on my calendar, Joe. Dinner, Sunday, 8 o’clock does that work?” He mimed holding a notebook and jotting down the appointment.

“Have you lost your mind? That’s what I need to do if I want ten minutes to myself, let alone a whole dinner. You know I didn’t even put sleep on my calendar for this trip?”

“Lemme not even say good morning because I have a call I need to get on Joe, thanks for the biscuits.”

“Did you miss the entire point of me being in London when I sent you my itinerary? Or did you think this was just me coming to fuck you for two weeks?”

“Maybe not the whole two weeks,” he sneered at you. “But even a how was your day would have been nicer than being treated like the hotel manager.”

“At least the hotel staff cleans shit up,” you scoffed at him. “You know I went out for drinks the other night, went to that pub you told me about, because we finally figured out a contract and I spilled wine on myself. Came back here to throw it in the wash only to find the machine full of dirty clothes. That was really fun to see your stained and faded tighty whiteys at the top of the load. Were you just waiting for the maid service to come back to start the wash for you? You’re so famous now that can’t even hit the damn button yourself?”

The next scathing remark stopped dead on his tongue at that, and then he felt the shame build up.

But only for a moment, because before he knew it, you were crossing the distance and smashing your mouth to his. It was a quick play for control as usual, neither of you caring that you’d just butt heads because the real winner would be whoever could succeed at your little game first; he was in such a mood, such a state, that he actually tried to put up a fight, wanting to get you to cry out for him like he’d been wanting all week. Wanting to be wanted, needed.

He pulled away to remove the bridge from his mouth, mindful of the complaint you’d made about kissing him last time you’d met up, and you did something unexpectedly delicious.

“You rich rat,” you growled at him as you tugged his shirt free of his waistband with one hand and started working his belt loose with the other. “You better be wearing clean underwear right now so help me god.”

And damn if he didn’t get hard just from your words alone.

The aggressive snap of his belt hitting the tile floor also helped.

“They should be,” he grinned cheekily and pulled your sleep shirt over your head. “Agnetha did a load before you got here.”

“You’re pathetic.” You worked the buttons of his shirt as quickly as you could. “How much is this shirt? ’S it dry-clean only? Does she take your dry cleaning in too? Bring it back and make sure it’s folded nicely only for you to shove everything in the drawer anyway. Like the useless boy you are.”

Yeah that was doing it for him.

“She washes the sheets too.” He dropped to his knees before you now as you leant against the counter, fully intent on pleasing you right here in the kitchen. “Changed them right before you got here. Shouldn’t be any more questionable stains.”

“Useless,” you hissed at him but ran a hand softly through his curls as he kissed along your abdomen and peeled your leggings down your legs. “Utterly useless.”

The thing about you though was your self-restraint, your discipline. You didn’t like to lose; you’d deprive yourself of things to get some advantage over your adversaries—usually corporate adversaries—and come out on top. And you made that very well known in the bedroom too when this little game got started. You’d gotten him to cum easily the first time you slept together and then used him to chase your own pleasure, commanding his mouth and tongue here and fingers there.

Just like you were doing now. No moans, just little hitches in your breathing as you steered his head and used the leg you’d thrown over his shoulder to bring him deeper into your center.

When you got close to completion, you used the upper hand again to push him away and you both descended together. His trousers and pants shoved down to his knees with his shirt bunched up under his head so he wouldn’t be sore from smacking it against the tile when you sunk down onto him. And when he felt the delicious squeeze of your cunt, he couldn’t help himself from throwing his head back; good for you to have the foresight.

He had the foresight too though. He knew your moves, they made him see the light of God, seductress that you were. You told him your secret once as you basked in the afterglow when you’d rendered him particularly speechless.

“Spell the word coconut.”

“C-o-c--“

“No, I spell the word coconut. As I’m on top. Read it in a magazine or something during my last layover.”

And he could feel it now, predict it. Feel the motion of your hips, around and around and up and down and squeeze.

He couldn’t tell just by looking at your face, he had to feel it; close his eyes and feel the tempestuous slide of you over him, bringing him higher.

Maybe he would win the game tonight?

He wasn’t one to lose either; he could be competitive just like you. In fact, he was excellent at manipulating a situation in his favor. School, money, life. And with you he’d won enough times to know it could be done. You’d made him feel so…meaningless over the past week—even if he’d misunderstood and overreacted—that a win would be even better than the pleasure itself.

You pried one of his hands off your hip where it was clinging for dear life and directed him to play with your clit so you didn’t have to. For a moment, he lifted his head and watched his own nicotine-stained nails and your prettily manicured ones mingle against the engorged and glistening junction of your sex, and where any other time it would have him groaning at the sight, he couldn’t help but notice how disgusting his hands looked in comparison to your own. For a moment the confidence faltered.

When had he last washed them? Maybe you were right, he was gross and pathetic…

But then you moaned, and from his point of view It looked like it even surprised you even. You stuttered in your pace and your eyes went a little wide.

He felt all the doubt leave him.

He would win tonight…

He took advantage, used his leverage, to turn the tables. To sit upright and guide you to take his spot; you couldn’t even protest before he pistoned into you, before his fingered took an unrelenting pace on your clit.

He could spell coconut too, and he did. He would tell you all about it after his victory. Boast over using your own tricks against you.

You watched him with unblinking eyes as your nails dug into his bicep and shoulder, as you bit your lip so hard he was sure you’d bite right through it, and you kept the little whine that emanated from your throat as soft as you possibly could. Still, he could hear it through the desperate, wet sounds of your fucking.

He closed his eyes and focused on the finish line, focused on keeping the tension of his mounting pleasure back as he could feel you grip tighter and begin to spasm around him. He needed to win, it would be glorious.

“Joe,” you moaned, and he thought it was over. But there, underneath the neediness, lay the condescension, the obvious upper hand. “Can you hurry up? I have a call at 7am”

He came, seconds before you did. Collapsed against you and spilled inside of you before you found your own release.

On his kitchen floor, spent, laughing together, basking in the ridiculous pleasure found in the presence of one another, another game came to an end.

And he might have lost, but in the end, did he really lose?

Happy Birthday asshole. I'm following you into 30 in 10 months with a vengeance.

No love lost, The better Jo(e) </3

#tw: rpf #Joseph quinn rpf #rpf #Joseph quinn x reader #stranger things fic

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eddiemunsons80sbaby · 6 months

Text

Made For You

Pairing: JoeKeeryxReader

Request: You go to the US Open with Joe after buying him tickets for your five month anniversary. You have kept your relationship under wraps because you struggle with anxiety and don't want all the attention. You are always careful. You are in a VIP suite and things start heating up but you stop it, not wanting anyone to see you. You head to the bathroom and are confronted by a reporter who took a picture of you that she plans to plaster on the Internet and judging you, wondering why Joe would be with someone like you, sending you into a full blown attack. Joe comes to check on you and gets you out of there, back to his house, where the two of you make love while he assures you everything is okay.

I hope you're okay with the fact that I adjusted the request a bit and had the confrontation with a reporter. I am fine with RFP but I am not comfortable writing about Joe's personal relationships.

18+ ONLY Minors go away

“Joe,” you murmured, head thrown back as his lips trailed over the side of the neck, latching on when they reached that sweet spot just between your neck and shoulder, causing a low moan to rise from your chest.

Your hand slid into his hair, knocking the pink baseball cap off. It fell forward, against your face and Joe swatted it away, the fingers of his other hand curling around the strap of your tank top, dragging it down your arm. Lips, tongue, and teeth explored your collarbone, the skin just above the collar of your tank.

“Fuck babydoll, you’re driving me crazy with this outfit,” he rasped, fingers now resting on your knee, kneading along the flesh of your thigh as they slid up, heading underneath the skirt you’d picked just for this occasion.

It was a cute little white tennis skirt, something you’d picked up, wanting to make sure you looked the part when you joined your man at the U.S. Open. Joe had been talking about it for months, his passion infectious, and you’d wanted to make sure he got to see it. You’d bought the tickets without him knowing, surprising him for your five month anniversary. You weren’t much of a sports fan but you wanted to support his passions just like he did yours.

You’d received an even bigger surprise when you’d arrived and, upon seeing Joe Keery, your tickets had instantly been upgraded to a VIP suite. All the free drinks had been coming your way and feeling a bit tipsy, you were letting your guard down. Usually so cautious about being caught by paparazzi but now Joe’s hand was under your skirt and it just felt so damn good, too good to care about who was watching.

Your hand wrapped around the back of his neck, chest arching into him when his lips wrapped around your nipple through the thin cotton of the tank top. His hand cupped your pussy over your underwear, pulling your nipple between his teeth and you cried out.

“Shh, baby, got to be quiet,” he whispered, smirking against your skin, his nose marking a long over your neck and across your jaw. “Don’t want to get caught, now, do we?”

Caught…that word stuck in your brain and your eyes popped open. You pushed his hand back, looking around you anxiously. Had anyone seen? Oh god, what if there were pictures on the internet tomorrow of the two of you with Joe’s hand up your skirt? After the last time the paparazzi had hounded the two of you, causing you to fall down the stairs, you’d had nightmares. Flashbulbs going off in your face, people screaming at you, chasing you down the street.

You hated the publicity that came with dating someone like Joe but you loved him. You loved him so much that it was a deep ache within you. You loved him so much that you were willing to put up with the insanity but only in small amounts. Joe, being the amazing person he was, tried his best to shield you. When the pictures came out, he gave no comment, leaving everyone to speculate that you were possibly just a date, nothing more.

You loved him enough that you wanted to scream it from the rafters. You wanted everyone to know that he was yours but you knew you couldn’t handle the repercussions that came with that kind of public announcement. Joe knew too and he respected it, working hard to keep your private life just that, private.

“Hey,” he said softly, one of his large hands cupping your cheek, amber eyes flooded with concern, so soft and sweet. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I just…people could be watching,” you whispered.

“Nobody can see us, angel. We’re in a VIP suite, all alone, just you and me.”

He reached for you but you rose from the couch, shaking your head, “Joe…I can’t. I’m sorry.” You grabbed onto the back of it to steady yourself. “I uh…I have to use the bathroom.”

“Okay. You want me to come with you?”

“No. I’m good. I don’t want you to miss the final tournament,” you insisted, stumbling as you headed for the door.

“Hey, angel, you know it’s okay, right?” Joe called out and you turned to look at him in confusion. He smiled gently. “It’s okay. I understand why you don’t want to. I would never want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I know.”

You smiled and nodded, making your way on unsteady feet for the bathroom. You hated that you were like this. You hated how your anxiety ruled your life, your thoughts, your relationship. You wished you could give Joe everything he wanted. You wished things could be easy but that ugly fear always reared its head.

Pushing open the bathroom door, you headed into a stall. As you exited, another woman entered the bathroom. She walked up next to you at the sink as you pumped soap into your hands, washing her own. Your eyes lifted to the mirror to find her looking at you with a small smirk, her head tilted as if in interest.

“Uhh…hi…” you said, finding it strange that this woman was just looking at you but also not wanting the situation to be awkward if it didn’t need to be. You had enough awkwardness in your life. Hell, you were the definition of awkward.

“Hello. So, how did a girl like you manage to snag a snack like Joe Kerry?”

Your mouth dropped open, eyes wide, your reflection in the mirror one of someone standing in oncoming traffic, watching the truck barreling down toward you, bracing for impact. Your hands grasped the sides of the sink as your brain processed what this woman had just said to you. How would she know that? Who was she?

“Excuse me?”

One hip rested against the edge of the porcelain, her arms folding over her chest, long manicured fingernails, deep burgundy curling around her arms. The look on her face reminded you of a snake just waiting to strike. This woman was out for blood. You swallowed the panic down, inhaling slowly just like your therapist had taught you, reminding yourself that you had to stay calm. You could not give whoever this was any ammunition if you didn’t want your life to absolutely implode in the worst way.

“I mean, Keery? Seriously? The man of the luscious locks, chiseled jaw, and perfect ass is dating you? Who are you? It’s my business to know everyone sweetie and I have no idea who you are. Which would lead me to believe that you’re a nobody. So, explain to me, what exactly is that gorgeous man, a man who dated a beautiful actress, doing with someone like you?”

Her eyes traveled from your head to your toe, taking in the sight of you, your little tennis outfit, with obvious distaste. You could feel a panic attack coming on. Your palms were clammy, your chest tight, each breath feeling like a struggle as your heart beat so loud you were sure this nasty woman could hear it too.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammered, shaking your head as you lied, lied to try to save yourself, save Joe, save your sanity. “I don’t even know who you’re talking about. I just came with friends.”

“Oh yeah? Is this something you do with people you don’t even know? Bit trashy, don’t you think?”

She held up her phone and your entire world crashed down around you, the sound echoing through your head. There you were, your head thrown back, Joe’s lips on your neck and his hand up your skirt. There was your worst fear in vivid color on this woman’s iPhone. That wicked smile morphed into smug satisfaction, your face giving everything away.

“No…I…that…it’s not what you think.”

You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think. How would you ever explain this away? Your eyes closed against the lights in the bathroom that were suddenly far too bright. Your head pounded with the blood rushing through your body. Fingers clawed at your shirt as the noose tightened around you, choking you, your other hand the only keeping you upright as you held onto the sink with an iron grip.

“What else could it possibly be?” the woman laughed, the sound grating, setting every one of your nerves on edge. “Either you’re in a relationship with him or you’re just a nasty little whore who let some guy she didn’t know feel her up. What? He’s famous so you were hoping for some money, gifts? Oh…are you a call girl? Did he pay you for your services?” She frowned, shaking her head. “No, you’re not pretty enough to be a high end call girl. I suggest you clear the air, sweetie, because this image is going to be everywhere in a few hours. If you don’t tell me your story, the public will write one themselves.”

“No. Please. I can’t…” you begged, tears stinging your eyes, falling down your cheeks as your legs gave out, your body sinking to the tile floor of the bathroom. You curled into a ball, desperate to shield yourself from the attack. If you could just make yourself small enough, maybe she would go away, maybe she wouldn’t see you.

“Have it your way. Either way, Joe is really lowering his standards. He could have damn near any girl he wants and he is wasting his time with a nobody, plain girl like you. Sad. Hope you’re ready for the whole world to know who you are.”

You heard the bathroom door swing shut. She was gone but you couldn’t move. You whimpered, rocking back and forth, desperate for this all to have been some nightmare. You would wake up any moment in your bed and this all would have been in your head.

Jesus, this was so bad. This was apocalyptic end of the world bad. Your face would be plastered everywhere and every single person who saw that picture would think the same thing that vile woman had. They would see beautiful, perfect Joe with some plain, boring nothing. You weren’t an actress. You weren’t a model. You weren’t anything special. You were nobody. You couldn’t possibly compete with the women who had been on his arm before you and every single person would know that. They would judge you. They would comment vile things. They would find you and harass you. The very thought caused your chest to tighten even more.

Breathing was impossible. You struggled to open your eyes and the bathroom began to spin, the garish birds painted on the walls morphing, losing focus. Everything was fuzzy. Your stomach lurched and you feared you were going to lose your dinner all over yourself. Your head sunk to the floor, curling yourself into the fetal position as you fought back against the attack on your senses.

“Angel?” came a voice as if from underwater, muffled, indistinct. You couldn’t focus. “Jesus Christ. Let’s get you out of here.” Two strong arms found their way under you, one behind your neck and one tucked behind your knees. You were moving but you didn’t know where and you didn’t care. You just wanted to disappear. “I need a cab. Call me a cab right now!”

___________________________________________________________

Your eyes blinked slowly open, struggling to focus. You were wrapped up in a blanket in Joe’s bed. It was dark, no light coming through the windows, letting you know that it was still nighttime. There was a mug of tea on the nightstand next to you and the weight of an arm cradling your body, warmth snuggled up behind you.

“Joe?” you inquired softly.

“Hey there, beautiful. You’re awake.” His lips brushed against your shoulder as he pulled you closer against him. His voice was shaky, full of fear and concern. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know. I…what happened?”

“I found you curled up on the bathroom floor. Scared the shit of me, angel. Did you have an attack?”

“I…” Your voice broke off as the events of the night came rushing back. Joe’s hand up your skirt, your fear of someone seeing, the nasty woman in the bathroom, the picture on her cell phone, the things she said about you, the promise that the picture was going to be all over the internet. A sob rose from within you. “Oh god.”

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Joe pleaded, brushing your hair back, his face burrowing into your neck. “What happened?”

“There was a woman in the bathroom. I don’t know how but she had a picture of us in the suite. She’s posting it on the internet. She accused me of using you for money or being a call girl.”

“Fuck,” he muttered angrily.

“But then she said there was no way I was a high end call girl because I wasn’t pretty enough. She wondered what you were doing with me because I’m not…I’m not good enough. And she’s right Joe. I’m not. I don’t know why you’re with me. And now the whole world is going to see my face and they’re going to wonder the same thing and they’re going to find out all about me. They’ll find out where I work, where I live, and they’re never going to leave me alone. They’ll make our lives hell. They’ll ask you over and over what you’re doing with someone like me and then you’ll wonder and you’ll leave me.”

“Whoa…whoa…” he breathed, his hand cupping your shoulder, pressing you onto your back. Those deep amber eyes burned straight through to your soul, eyebrows scrunched, little furrow lines of concern between them. “What are you talking about? I’m not going to leave you.”

“You will,” you insisted, tears spilling from your eyes, wetting the pillow beneath you. “You will and who would blame you? I’m nothing. I’m not pretty enough to be a model or an actress. You could have anyone you wanted. Women are dying to be with you.”

“I’m not dying to be with anyone but you,” Joe stated, the backs of his fingers running down your cheek, his nose brushing over yours. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world to me. I don’t give a shit what some trashy reporter said. She was just trying to get a rise out of you to get a good story. She wanted to make you lose your shit, baby. That’s what they do. They want drama so they can plaster it everywhere. Joe Keery dating a psycho.”

A wail pulled from deep within you, your hands covering your face, “I am a psycho. What kind of person falls apart on the floor of a public bathroom and can’t remember what happened? What kind of person can’t handle life?”

“You can handle life, angel. You’re the strongest person I know. You have something you struggle with but you fight it and you go to work and you live your life. It’s okay to need help sometimes. That’s what I’m here for, okay? I’ve always got you and I’ll have you through this too. I know you didn’t want the world to know but there’s no putting that particular secret back in the box. So, we deal with it together.”

“No…we don't fit, Joe. It would be better if we end things now. Then you could just say I was some fling and it’s over and nobody would bother you about it. I know how much you value your privacy too and let’s face it. We’re not right for each other. You’re way too good for me.”

“Baby, that’s not true. If anyone’s too good, it’s you whose too good for me,” he stated. His mouth covered yours, tongue slipping past your lips to lick into your mouth. You moaned softly, your body responding instantly, fingers slipping into his silky locks. “See? Look how right we are. Let me show you, angel. Let me help you relax and show you just how much we’re made for each other.”

“Joe,” you whispered but it was futile. His hand was slipping under the blanket, under the hem of your skirt, along your inner thigh and you sighed, opening for him. You were helpless when it came to him. You couldn’t stop this if you tried.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, his mouth trailing a blaze of kisses over your jaw and neck while two thick fingers slipped into your panties, moving through your slick to your entrance, teasing. “Let me make you feel good, baby. Let me easy all that pesky anxiety away the way only I can, okay?”

You nodded, eyes slipping closed, gasping, nails digging into his shoulders when those fingers pressed into you, curling against your spongy walls, that space that made your legs tremble with need. His other hand pulled on the strap of your tank top, dragging it down your shoulder until your breast was free, lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. HIs tongue swirled and then flicked as his fingers moved within you and you arched, pressing yourself more fully into his mouth, needing more. Nothing was ever enough with Joe.

“Good, baby. Let it all go for me,” he whispered, teeth raking over your nipple while his thumb began making circles over your clit. “Love all those little sounds you make. So fucking hot, beautiful.”

“Joe…feels so good,” you gasped, hips rocking up, moving against his hand, the knot in your stomach twisting ever tighter, the way it did before it completely unraveled.

“Who’s the only one who can make you feel like this?” he demanded, lips coming back to yours, teeth pulling at your bottom lip until you whimpered.

“You.”

“That’s right,” he smirked, “I’m the only one who makes you feel like this, angel.”

Your fingers grasped at the sheets. His mouth was back on your nipple, licking, sucking, nipping. His thick fingers stretched apart, scissoring within you in preparation of what was to come, and his thumb kept constant pressure on your clit. That knot was as tight as it was going to go and then it burst apart and you were arching, screaming his name, muscles tensing and then trembling. Joe worked you through it, continuing to pleasure you until he felt your walls relaxing around him.

“Mine,” he growled, fingers slipping from within you to be brought into his mouth, sucking slowly, the sight so fucking erotic that your body responded instantly, ready for more.

Joe pressed himself up, pushing his sweats and boxers down over his hips. One hand rested on the side of your head, legs between yours, spreading you wide. His nose ran over yours, lips brushing yours sweetly as he gripped his cock, centering it and then pressed into you, slowly, so slowly that you could feel him stretching you, caressing your walls intimately until he bottomed out, hips press flush against yours.

“Do you feel that?” he whispered, his head ducking down, lips right next to your ear. “Feel how perfectly we fit? Your body was made for me. You were made for me."

Tears stung your eyes as Joe began to move, his movement slow, gentle, loving, as if he were trying to fill you with certainty, using his body to show you exactly how he felt. His arms slid underneath your upper back, pressing your chests together, every inch of your skin touching him.

"You're mine," Joe rasped, lips moving against yours. "You can't leave me, baby because you were meant to be mine. You belong here, with me, always."

Your hands cradled his face, mouths molded together in a kiss of desperation as tears flowed down your cheeks. You wanted this. You wanted him. You wanted forever. You wanted everything he was saying to be true and maybe it was. Maybe it didn't matter what anyone else thought. Maybe it only mattered how much you loved him, how much he loved you.

Joe rutted against you, burying himself so deep with each thrust that you feel him in the very depths of your soul. Your hands moved over his shoulders, the muscles of his back, gripping him as that knot coiled once again and then released, forceful and explosive, your body trembling violently beneath him.

"Oh shit angel, you feel so good. You're pulling me so...fuck. I'm gonna...I'm..."

Joe's release flooded you, his body shuddering over yours as he held you tightly as if you were his port in a storm. Maybe you were, maybe you could be. He was yours. From the moment you'd met, he'd always understood you, had such empathy, been everything you needed, so patient and kind.

"I love you," he rasped, lips finding yours once again. "Don't leave me, baby. I love you so much."

"Never," you promised, and you meant it. How could you ever walk away from this man, this man who was everything you never even knew you needed? Everything you never thought could exist? "I love you so much, Joe. I don't know what I did to deserve you but I am so grateful I get to be the one to have you."

"You're you, angel. That's more than enough. I am the luckiest guy in the world. You belong with me."

"Made for you, right?" you smiled.

"Made for me," he repeated, his lips covering yours once again and every ounce of anxiety had vanished, replaced with nothing but Joe and your love for him.

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