#joseph quinn rpf

[whatsupsonnyboy]

dBtMf | Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Joe comes home to find you dancing in the kitchen, surrounded by music, warmth, and carefree joy. It's all about laughter, clumsy steps, and a track he doesn’t understand —but he understands one thing: he’s nuts about you.

wc: 1k

warning: fluff, this is just a bunch of fluff, Joe being a little clumsy and really into you ;)

a/n: I'm not really sure how many people are familiar with this kind of music, but let’s be honest—I love Bad Bunny, and his new album is incredible (seriously, give it a chance, I really recommend it). Anyway, I couldn’t stop imagining a scene like this, so… here it is. This one’s short—I hope you enjoy it. Remember this is not a series, but if you wanna read more of this Joe, you can find it here.

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

The door clicked open.

Joe stepped inside, his keys still in hand, shoulders sagging from the weight of the day. The apartment smelled faintly of cumin and something sweeter—maybe caramelized onions, maybe toasted rice. It was warm inside, the kind of warmth that didn’t just touch your skin but seemed to settle somewhere behind your ribs.

He expected quiet. Maybe the hum of the fridge, maybe his own footsteps echoing across the hardwood. But instead, he heard it.

Music. Faint, at first—just the low pulse of a beat slipping through the apartment like a heartbeat. As he stepped deeper into the hall, the sound bloomed into something fuller, rhythmic, alive. A reggaetón track—Spanish lyrics he didn’t fully understand, layered over drums that moved like waves. There was a kind of ache to the melody, though, like nostalgia built into the rhythm. He wouldn’t have known the name of the song, or the artist, but he recognized the feeling behind it.

He paused, listening. Then he smiled.

From the kitchen, there was movement—your voice, lifted in song, a little off-key but full of heart. He moved quietly, drawn by the sound, until he reached the threshold and stopped.

You were there, barefoot on the kitchen tiles, a wooden spoon in one hand, your hips moving to the beat like it was second nature. There was a pot on the stove, something simmering low, and a cutting board on the counter littered with slivers of red and yellow pepper. You had a speaker tucked beside the spice rack, and the music poured from it, unapologetic and bright.

You didn’t see him at first.

He watched. Leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, that rare half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—the one he didn’t know he was wearing. There was something in the way you moved, how free you were in your own little world, how the music seemed to flow through you rather than just play around you. You spun—too fast—and the spoon flew from your hand, clattering to the floor.

You let out a yelp, laughing at yourself, and finally noticed him.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, cheeks already coloring. “How long have you been standing there?”

Joe lifted his hands, as if caught mid-crime. “A while. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re such a creep.” But you were smiling.

“I call it observational appreciation.”

You shook your head, bent to pick up the spoon, then glanced at him again. “You looked like you saw a ghost.”

“I saw you dancing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And it was... impressive.” He grinned. “You’ve got moves.”

You pretended to consider this, then stepped toward the speaker and nudged the volume a notch higher. “Then come show me yours.”

His face shifted—instant panic. “No way. You know I can’t dance.”

You walked up to him, slow and deliberate, like it was part of the song. “I know. That’s why I’m inviting you.”

“That’s cruel.”

“It’s love,” you said, taking his hand.

He hesitated, still half-frozen with embarrassment, but he didn’t pull away. You placed his other hand on your waist and guided him gently, step by awkward step. It was clumsy at first. He bumped into your foot, swore under his breath, and muttered something about having two left feet.

But you were laughing. Not at him—never at him—but in that way you did when joy bubbled up without permission. And that’s what kept him trying.

You showed him the rhythm—not with words, but with the sway of your body. The music slowed, then picked up again, and you shifted into a different step, hips leading, hands light. He tried to follow. He failed. But he was watching you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.

When he finally managed a decent turn, you whooped like he won the lottery. The rice was probably burning, the spoon was still on the floor, but none of it mattered.

Because right there, in the middle of the kitchen, with the music pouring around you like a spell, he kissed you.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t polished. It just happened—as natural as breathing, as inevitable as the beat itself.

And for the first time that day, he wasn’t thinking. He was just there. With you.

When you pulled apart, his forehead still resting against yours, he let out a soft laugh, like he couldn’t quite believe what just happened. Like you were some kind of small domestic miracle, smelling of sweet pepper and moving with rhythm in your feet.

“Okay,” he said then, with a crooked smile. “You have to tell me—what was this? What are we listening to?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. He never asked. Not about this. You had always shared a love for music—spent nights dissecting lyrics, arguing over which Arctic Monkeys album was the best, sending each other Pink Floyd deep cuts and trading favorite 1975 tracks like secrets. There was overlap, definitely. A shared language.

But this—this rhythm-heavy, sun-soaked, deeply yours kind of music—he had never really shown interest. Not out of dismissal, just... it never crossed his radar. The Latin and urban sounds you sometimes drifted into when you were cooking, cleaning, or just missing home—those had always been your world alone. Until now.

And there was something quietly disarming about the way he was looking at you, trying to understand a rhythm that was never written for him. Not because he suddenly loved the beat. But because you did.

“It’s Bad Bunny,” you said, almost shyly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s from his last album. The whole thing was kind of... nostalgic, I guess. Less party, more memory. Like, he is still doing reggaetón and trap and all that, but there is this undercurrent—like he is looking back at everything he had lived and trying to figure out what really mattered.”

Joe tilted his head, still watching you. Really watching. “Didn’t peg him for the reflective type.”

You laughed softly. “He surprises you, if you let him. It’s full of these little moments that felt almost private. Like he wasn’t just singing for a crowd—he was talking to someone he lost. Or maybe to a version of himself.”

He didn’t answer right away, just nodded slowly, processing. And you could tell—it wasn’t really about the album for him. It was about you, about hearing the things that moved you, the things that lived behind your eyes when you thought he wasn’t looking.

“Not really my usual vibe,” he said eventually.

“I know.” You smiled. “But you’re still here.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Because you are.”

[vinecstasy]

joseph quinn x actress!reader

dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

joseph quinn who first met you when you both started at LAMDA and everyone else seemed to know someone else apart from the two of you.

so naturally that was the strategy; join forces rather than trying to get on with anyone else straight away. and ever since then you’d been stuck with him.

joseph quinn who awkwardly asked you out near the end of your first year, wearing an odd coloured shirt that was quite frankly ugly, but he’d chose it because he thought it would impress you. it wasn’t cheap after all…at least for a student.

of course you had said yes as you were already smitten with the boy since your second month of knowing him. when your flatmates found out, you both expected a massive reaction, but rather they were unfazed and thought you were secretly together anyways.

joseph quinn who had already had multiple stage kisses with you in the plays that you had both performed alongside each other in, but was absolutely sick to his stomach that first time he would kiss you after a date to see a shitty film at the cheap film club you had both signed up to just to make fun of the bad acting.

afterwards getting home, closing the door and sliding down it giggling and smiling to himself like a madman…until he realised that wesley stood there staring at him with a look in his eyes that joe knew would mean he would not let him forget this.

joseph quinn who had gotten his ‘big break’ as eddie in stranger things alongside his lover, which just felt like a full circle moment.

although, this time there was no terrible dialogue written by some acne scarred 19 year old who fancied themselves the next tarentino or awkward love scenes that would leave him with his own ‘problems’ to sort out afterwards.

joseph quinn who never fails to mention you in some way in every interview or podcast he does. always having to get in a little anecdote or words of wisdom you had shared with him.

seriously, he thinks he has a problem. even his cast mates could predict when your name was going to come into the conversation after having to deal with months of him going on about how brilliant you are and how much he wishes you were here right now. he’s just such a sap…but you love it.

[pinksatinpanties]

PRETTIEST GIRL IN THE ROOM ─ joseph quinn

summary Anyone would kill to play Joseph Quinn's wife on television. Anyone except you.

pairing joseph quinn x actress!reader

wordcount 1.8k

⎯⎯  warning(s)  kissing | dating co-workers | rpf

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

Clubs were not your thing. But you were wrapping the first season of the show that gave you your first lead role on everyone’s favorite streaming service alongside 2022’s it-guy - Joseph Quinn. So you understood why this might be a night out that you couldn’t pass on. Even if it did end in disaster, it was a memory begging to be made.

The main cast had agreed on and planned this night out for the past three weeks in the group chat. The destination was a popular speakeasy in New York, the kind you needed a password for and entered through an inconspicuous door hidden behind a dumpster. 

There you sat at the table, forcing the coolest attitude you could conjure sitting across from your TV husband, Joe. In the six months you spent as his TV wife, you couldn’t imagine why everyone was so head over heels for this guy. Sure, he’s handsome and good with fans, but is that all it took? Was the bar truly that low? Your heart cried for women everywhere. 

He could also be kind of cocky and a bit of a smartass. He would make passive aggressive jokes at your expense. Maybe it was some kind of culture thing you weren’t picking up. He was British after all. He kept calling you “Mrs. Henderson” instead of your own, real name after you had asked him multiple times to stop calling you by your character’s married name when you weren’t filming. Then he just began to tease you about it.

“Good morning, Mrs. Henderson.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Henderson.”

“Good to see you, Mrs. Henderson.”

Holly Vanguard made sure to get the seat to Joe’s right, laughing too loudly at all of his dry humor. She even laughed when he wasn’t making jokes. Maybe she was just stuck in character. She played Joe’s secretary on the show. “We’re both British,” she took care to remind you often. “We get each other.” Why Holly excluded your very British TV father from this covenant, you’ll never know. David sat to your left.

Every so often he would reach over and squeeze your hand in reassurance. When you looked over to him, he’d be smiling softly with encouragement in his eyes. You had developed a negative reputation throughout filming the season because you preferred not to agitate your social anxiety by leaving your trailer. David was the only one you had confided in about it after a particularly stressful day on set. You’d heard whispers of your “stuck up attitude” after passing on a previous night out with the cast (which you suspected was started by Holly). You were sure your bickering with Joe when the cameras weren’t rolling hadn’t helped.

This was your first real gig and the circus of it all drove you crazy. There were a lot of politics involved in being part of a cast of public figures. Apparently, people weren’t supposed to disagree with anyone who had more public recognition than you did - especially if that one was GQ’s Man of the Year. You suspected Joe liked your attitude at least a little bit, but you couldn’t be sure.

“Why don’t we play Spin the Bottle?” Holly suggested to the table, giving Joe eyes.

Groans of opposition came from the older cast members and they excused themselves to the dancefloor after everyone had a laugh. And then there were five. You silently wept at the loss of your emotional support TV father.

“In the middle of a pandemic? No,” Jackson shut it down and made a different proposal. “Let’s play a good old-fashioned game of Truth or Dare. But you don’t get to choose either or - the person asking chooses for you. If you refuse a dare or question, you’ve gotta take a shot of tequila.”

“Every 20 minutes, I’ll refuse a question,” Joe declared and slapped a palm onto the table. His dirty martini shook next to the point of impact. 

The group made rounds around the table and when it came to you, you asked Jackson what it was like to be the most fashionable person in the room at all times. 

“Oh my god, finally someone acknowledges my plight. It’s exhausting. I spend all this time planning outfits and looking amazing, but do I get invited to the Met Gala? No. I don’t even get to look at myself all day, everyone else gets to see my color coordination and I have to look at everyone else’s sweatpants and Wallabees. No offense, Joseph,” Jackson said with no remorse.

“That’s fair,” Joe shrugged and smirked.

In the few rounds you all had, you noticed Joe always dared people to do absurd things like pose with the statues in the back of the club and “stay in character” for a full five minutes or take the fish skeleton off of the plate of the table next to them and cuddle it for a full round.

You thought it was sweet that he only came up with dares that wouldn’t inconvenience the staff and other club go-ers or violate anyone’s boundaries while still managing to be funny. He could easily be obnoxious if he wanted to. He’s not so bad, you guessed.

When his fourth turn came around, he broke the pattern. Joe said your name and you prepared to fully commit to whatever zany bit he’d come up with this time, but he said:

“Truth: why don’t you come out with us more often?”

“O-oh,” you blubbered, caught off guard. “I just… I’m not good with crowds.”

“Oh, come on. I want a real answer.”

“That is my real answer. I’d just make a fool of myself. I’m not…”

“You seem to be doing just fine so far.”

“Well, that’s because David-” You turned to look for him and found him attempting a very bad vogue in a small group of younger people. They cheered and let all sorts of onomatopoeia in encouragement. “...was helping.”

“Alright, alright, but if you don’t come out with us next time, I’ll be wounded.” Joe pressed both hands to his pectoral over his heart.

“Next!” Jackson jeered.

“Oh! Would you look at that, it’s my turn!” Holly squealed. You didn’t have the highest opinion of Holly, but the feminist in you refused to dislike her until she committed an actual crime like vehicular manslaughter. Being annoying wasn’t a serious enough offense.

Holly dramatically adjusted herself in her seat to face Joe.

“I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room,” Holly slurred and puckered her glossy lips, tilting forward a bit to display her cleavage. Your stomach dropped. Everyone at the table exchanged glances, wondering if Joe was drunk enough to entertain it.

Joe’s eyelids fluttered and his head tilted as he processed what had been said. Had she really just done that? It was only after his eyes flicked over to you that you became aware of the jealousy on your face. Your recovery was quick, but not quick enough. Hopefully he took it as concern or judgement. He knit his brow and chuckled. Shit.

“You got me,” he surrendered. He grabbed a tequila shot from the tray and chucked the liquor down his throat. He didn’t even make a face. It was kind of sexy. No! It wasn’t. It was most definitely not sexy.

Holly exhaggerated a pout to play off the embarrassment. 

The rest of the night went smoothly. The game had got you loosened up enough to make your way to the dancefloor. Everyone whooped and hollered when you did. 

You couldn’t decide if it was just the liquid courage or if you were actually dancing very well. Your movements felt so fluid and you hit every beat - an uphill battle when you were sober. Judging by everyone’s surprise and the circle that formed around you in the middle of the dancefloor, you’d say your theory was accurate. Who knew the shyest cast member could be such a party animal?

After a verse of the 90s R&B song that was playing, you pointed to the first co-worker you laid eyes on and joined the circle as they took your place. 

…

The group stumbled through the hallways of the hotel at four in the morning, trying to keep the volume at a minimum and failing miserably. Your ears must’ve still been ringing from the club. Everyone was giggling and “SHHHH”-ing and repeating their room number.

“25D… 25, 25, 25…” Alex repeated.

“Shhhhh! We’re still in the under 20s! That’s 12D!” Jackson shouted.

“Both of you shut the fuck up! People are trying to sleep!” David whisper-shouted.

Joe shushed all three of them. 

When all the oversized toddlers were dropped off at their respective rooms, there was only yourself and Joe left. You’d wished you had booked a room further away just to talk to Joe a little longer. He was giggly and flushed from the drinks and you had never seen him so… cute. 

Before you knew it, you had arrived at your hotel room door. 

“Have you got your key?”

“Yeah,” you reached into your bag and retrieved the plastic card, holding it in your hands for a bit too long before looking up at Joe. You didn’t want the night to end. His eyes were glossy and full of - dare you say it - admiration.

“Well, I guess-“ “I think you’re-“

“Oh, sorry.” 

“No, no,” you said. “I, um…”

There was another long pause of sustained eye contact. It should have felt awkward or uncomfortable, but it didn’t. A smile spread across his face. You huffed a smaller laugh and found your own lips spreading. 

“Good night,” he said softly.

“Good night,” you barely whispered.

Joe walked down the hall as you swiped your key and turned the handle.

“Oh,” He muttered and snapped his fingers once.

“I’ve almost forgotten,” Joe called. He jogged back to your door and took your head into his hands. “I owe you.”

He pressed a gentle kiss into your lips. Then another. And another. Before you knew it, you were both nibbling on each others lips and swirling tongues into the other’s mouth. Which should have been raunchy and drunken and a huge mistake, but it didn’t feel like any of those things. He was so gentle and soft with you in a way that no other man had been before. Before you knew it, you were standing there: eyes blissfully closed and lips still slightly parted as Joe floated away from you.

“Good night, Mrs. Henderson,” he purred in that deep, chocolatey voice of his and walked back down the hall, disappearing into the elevator.

You stood there in front of your door for a good thirty seconds before coming back down from your high and slipping into your hotel room, dreaming of the next kiss Joe had in store for Mrs. Henderson. 

[firewebwingsx]

Joseph Quinn Moodboard

The new pics of him are giving literature profesor, but also a PhD or masters student!

[demonsanddemogorgons]

POV: you're being a brat and Eddie can't decide if he likes it or hates it 🔥

[lovejosephquinn]

I LOVE your little instagram/text posts for Joe and was wondering if you could do a little bts of the gladiator post with him in costume as Geta!

thank you my lovely, it requires some research let me tell you.

i would be absolutely happy too! enjoy💛

[sweetprfct]

Yes Forever

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Joe has been giving hints and it's making your heart explode every time.

Author's Note: The bridge of TTPD is to blame for this. Enjoy! :)

Wordcount: 1.9K

You knew you should have seen it coming.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t making it obvious these last few weeks. It wasn’t like his little actions were something he has been hiding. You should have seen it coming, but you didn’t want to expect anything. You didn’t want to hope just in case you were wrong, you know? You didn’t want to feel disappointed if it was just your mind making things up. 

It started off at the night of his movie premiere. You were all dressed up, and Joe couldn’t get his eyes off of you. Though, that wasn’t the thing that stuck out the whole night because Joe always looked at you like that no matter what. He was always telling you how stunning you were and that he was so lucky. The movie premiere went smoothly. You joined him at the red carpet and everyone was so proud about the movie and then, the after party came. You didn’t know if it was Joe having way too many drinks, or your mind was just being delusional. 

You sat next to him in the booth. Joe and his co-stars were laughing talking about a memory from the set, and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander somewhere else. It wasn’t like you were bored with their conversations or anything. You were actually enjoying yourself, but it was Joe’s soft touch on your hand under the table that was distracting you so much. 

“You know you should watch out for Joe.” One of his co-stars told you. “I would run off if I still had the chance.” He teased. 

You laughed softly, shaking your head as Joe wrapped an arm around you. His hand softly caressing your arm and his other hand… well… 

It was doing something that was making your heart race. 

Your hand was set on his lap and his index finger was grazing over your bare ring finger. You couldn’t help but purse your lips as you tried to keep your attention on the conversation in front of you. Joe kept that going for the rest of the night, and he didn’t say one word about it when you got home. So, you let the subject go. 

Then, you noticed one night when you were slowly falling asleep on the bed that Joe was just smiling and staring at you. His fingers caressing your soft cheek, while you were fighting hard to keep your eyes open. 

“Hmm…” You smiled, letting out a soft hum. 

“So beautiful.” Joe whispered, kissing your hair. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Joe.” You smiled, moving closer to him. 

You rested your head on his chest, your fingers finding his as you played with them. Joe then intertwined his fingers with yours and brought your hand on his lips, pressing a soft kiss on the back of your hand. 

“You have no idea how much you occupy my heart.” Joe said. “It’s all yours, darling. All of it.”

“I love you so much.” You smiled, pressing your face on his neck.

Joe held you tighter in his arms as comfortable silence blanketed the room for a moment. You two never really talked about the subject of it, but you knew there was that mutual understanding between the two of you. You just knew. You both really didn’t have to talk about it because what was there to talk about, right? You both already knew where this was heading. 

“You know, there was no other woman I felt this way about.” Joe murmured. “When I first saw you, I knew in my heart that it was you. You’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

You hitched a breath as Joe grazed his fingers over your bare ring finger again. You kept your eyes close, face still pressed on his neck. You didn’t know if you could look into his eyes right now. With the words he was speaking, your heart was beating hard out of your chest that you swore he could hear and feel it. 

“Darling?” Joe moved back a little, gazing down at you. 

You kept your eyes shut and stayed still. Joe’s fingers grazed over your cheek again, his lips tugging into a small smile. 

“You’re the love of my life, you know that?” Joe whispered as you fluttered your eyes open. 

You smiled at Joe, glancing up at him and said, “What’s going on, Joe?”

“What do you mean?” 

“I’ve noticed it lately…” You tilted your head at him. 

Joe raised his brow, pretending like he didn’t know what you were talking about. 

“Notice what?”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Nevermind.”

Joe reeled you back in his arms, kissing your hair softly. “I just want you to know how much I love you.”

You nodded your head, smiling softly as you set your head back on his chest. You didn’t want to say it first if he couldn’t admit it because you didn’t want to look stupid. Maybe you really were being delusional in the first place. Maybe Joe really was just being sweet and wanted to reassure you of his love. 

That was all. 

You finally let that subject go for a few weeks. It didn’t appear in your thoughts again until that one night when Joe had taken you out for a date night. He had suggested taking you into a nice restaurant since it had been a while since you both had gone out on a date. So, you agreed. You dressed up in a nice pale blue silky dress, and Joe was in a nice button up and trousers. You couldn’t help but run your fingers through his curls the moment you saw him waiting for you by the front door.

Joe hummed approvingly as he set his hands on your hips, pressing your body against his. 

“God, I can never get over how stunning you are.” Joe whispered, kissing down your neck. 

“And I can never get over how handsome you are.” You smiled, feeling his hands gently run down your sides. 

Joe gazed down at you, his eyes sparkling before leaning down to kiss you passionately. Leading you out the door, Joe had taken you to the restaurant that he chose, and it was nice and cozy. You couldn’t help but enjoy this moment with him. It really had been a while since you two had spent time together, especially with both of your busy schedules. 

“I’ve missed this.” You smiled, taking a sip of your wine.

“Me too.” Joe took your hands in his from across the table. “Sorry if I have been so busy, darling.”

“Joe,” You tilted your head at him. “I understand. You don’t have to apologize.”

“I know, but still…” Joe took a deep breath, playing with your fingers. “I want to apologize and want you to know that I love you.”

Squeezing his hand lightly, you gave Joe a warm reassuring smile. “Joe, I know. I love you too.”

Joe smiled slightly, looking down at your fingers. He played with the ring that you had on your middle finger for a moment before slipping it off. You watched as he slid it over to your ring finger and for a moment, you felt your lungs stopped working. You felt your heart almost exploding as Joe smiled slightly before slipping the ring back on your middle finger again. 

“Joe–” You whispered.

“Good evening, I’m Elle. I’ll be your server this evening.” The server stood by your table, giving both of you a genuine smile.

You pulled your hands away from Joe, your index finger and thumb playing with your ring anxiously under the table. Suddenly, the thoughts that you had pushed away from the last few weeks appeared in your mind again. You bit your lower lip, trying to focus your attention back on Joe and the server. You could feel your heart beat a thousand miles per minute, and you didn’t know how to really react with what just happened.

The rest of the night, you tried to keep your thoughts to yourself. You told your mind to be quiet and just enjoy this dinner date with Joe, especially that it had been so long since you both have done this. Joe never mentioned it once during the whole dinner. He acted like nothing happened and what he did was just a normal thing. However, your heart couldn’t fit in your chest anymore. No matter how much you tried to push the thought away, you kept repeating that little scene he did before dinner. 

“Hold on a second, darling.” Joe held your hand before you could open your front door later that evening. 

“What is it?” You turned to face him as he cupped both of your cheeks between his hands.

“I just want to do this.” Joe leaned down to kiss you softly on the lips. 

You chuckled softly, kissing him deeper and pulling him close to you. You wrapped your arms around his neck as Joe continued to kiss you, this time so lovingly and gentle. 

“I love you.” He murmured through the kiss.

You let out a soft hum as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“Marry me.” Joe murmured through the kiss. 

You froze for a moment, parting from the kiss as you stared at him with wide eyes. Joe, however, gave you a look that was all so loving. His chocolate button eyes twinkled as he caressed your cheek with his thumb. 

“W…What?” Your words stuttered as you processed what you just heard. 

Joe didn’t say anything as he walked around you and unlocked the front door. He turned to face you again, held out his hand and opened the front door of your flat. You gasped softly as soon as you saw what was behind him. The place was lit by candles and rose petals were laid out all over the floor. 

It was like what you saw in the movies. 

“My love.” Joe took your hand in his as you both entered the flat. 

You swallowed every emotion that was coming up in your throat as you watched Joe’s hand reach for his pocket. Then, he gazed up at you, holding a small red box in his hand, and a smile tugging on his lips as he got down on one knee in front of you.

“Joe, I–” 

“Darling, you knew that the first time I saw you, I knew that you were the one. You make me a better person everyday, and I love you so much. My heart is yours forever. Would you do me the honor to spend the rest of your life with me?”

You gasped softly, both your hands covering your mouth as tears welled up in your eyes. Your heart was racing, and you could barely find words in your mind. 

“Will you marry me?” 

“Yes.” You smiled as you helped Joe get up from the floor. “A thousand times yes. Yes to forever with you. Yes to everything with you.”

Joe grinned happily as he took the ring from the box and slid it on your ring finger before reeling you into his arms and kissed you passionately. Everything almost felt unreal as you kissed him back. 

“I love you.” You murmured, smiling happily.

You have never felt this happy before. Your heart was exploding in happiness as Joe kissed you again and held you in his arms. A big wide grin on his face, tears welling up in his eyes the moment he parted from the kiss.  

“I love you.” Joe whispered, embracing you. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you stared into his eyes, happiness radiating from the both of you. 

With Joe, it was always going to be yes. 

Forever.

The End.

**********

Taglist:

@palomahasenteredthechat @sunvick @eddies-acousticguitar @demonsanddemogorgons @joesquinns @mmunson86 @ghostinthebackofyourhead @corrodedcoffincumslut @figmentofquinn @tlclick73 @browneyes8288 @bylermaxmayfield @ali-r3n @ficsbypix @capricornrisingsstuff @missonlypost @ali-in-w0nderland @amberolivia666 @lalalala-melmosworld @niallersfreckles @nanas-lasagna @emma77645 @indulgence-be-thy-name @readergf @ladamari68 @1paire2vans @d4rk4ng3l86 @paleidiot @josephquinnsfreckles @readergf

[itsonlyjoseph]

The First Time You Met | Joseph Quinn x Reader

synopsis: short one-shot of meeting Joe at the pub

warnings: None, English jargon

word count: 1.5k

.

.

.

You were sat at your desk working quietly when your co worker knocked on the wood as if it was a door, getting your attention easily.

“What are you doing tonight?” She asked you.

“Uh, nothing I guess. Go home, open a bottle of wine and watch the telly til I fall asleep.” You smiled up at her, as if that was the high life.

“Oh come on, it’s Friday. Come out for once.” She practically pleaded with you.

“I don’t know. I’d have to get home and change and then come back in. Where do you even want to go?”

“You don’t have to go crazy, we’re only gonna’ be at the Churchill.”

You thought for moment. You hadn’t been out with your friends in a while and you definitely needed a break.

Your vibrator needed a break.

The Churchill Arms was a lowkey pub that didn’t require you to dress up too much. In fact, you’d look a bit silly if you did.

“I guess I can come.” You mumbled.

Eleanor, your co worker, squealed at your agreement and gave you a tight hug around the shoulders.

“Oh, my god, yes! This is gonna’ be so much fun. We haven’t seen you out in actual months.”

“I’m sure it hasn’t been that long.”

“It has.”

You narrowed your eyes up at her in a mock offence.

“We’re heading over right after work so make sure you’re ready.”

“Okay…” you mumbled as she walked off.

You liked your friends and you liked going out, but you also like going home, putting on your big socks and getting under a fuzzy blanket with the fireplace going.

You weren’t a loner or anything, you were just comfortable being single and having no responsibilities other than yourself.

You’d made it this far alone and you were proud of yourself. It felt good to do whatever you wanted and eat whatever you wanted for tea and decorate your house however you wanted.

Something you never admitted, however, is sometimes on very rare occasions, you did feel a bit bored or lonely when you had no one to talk to about your day or your nightmares or the latest film you just watched.

Soon, five o’clock rolled around and you packed up your things and haphazardly shoved them into your purse, walking down to the lobby to meet the others. You were wearing your typical work clothes. Casual, black knitted jumper and brown plaid trousers with some maroon Mary Jane ballet flats that cost more than you should’ve paid.

Luckily for you, your place of work was very casual and easy going but “casual and easy going” in London probably meant something different to the rest of the world.

The pub was already relatively busy considering it was a Friday night but not so busy that it was practically a nightclub. This is how you liked it.

You got a table close to the back and sat as one of your other co workers went to the bar to get the first round. The atmosphere was easy going and after a short while, you felt yourself actually really having fun. The conversation flowed easily. You’d poked fun at your bosses and horrible clients, talked about upcoming projects, talked about guys (much to the dismay of the lone male co worker amongst the group), and everything in between.

After the third round of lager was brought back to the table, Eleanor leaned over to speak quietly to you.

“I don’t want to alarm you but there’s a really cute guy looking at you.” She giggled.

You rolled your eyes and paid no mind to her. Like you said before, you were quite content being a singleton.

“No really, I think you should probably chat to this one.”

You decided to entertain her and turned your head to this alleged man checking you out.

You made eye contact and felt your breath get sucked out of your lungs.

That’s fucking Joseph Quinn, you thought.

You turned back to Eleanor with a somewhat dumbfounded look on your face to see her clearly excited one.

“I doubt he is looking at me of all people.” You said, taking a large gulp of your pint.

“Dude, he’s not stopped looking at you. Even when you went up to the bar.”

“Surely not.” You were suddenly ten times more shy than before.

“Surely yes, go talk to him!” Eleanor urged. The rest of the group was completely oblivious to your conversation, too engrossed in their own. Not that you minded.

“I can’t just go talk to the Joseph Quinn you idiot. I’ll choke and trip and just make a fool of myself in someway.”

“No you won’t. You’re always so hard on yourself.”

You were now very aware of the celebrity and it was making you feel small… and hot.

“Okay I have an idea. Take a deep breath, glance over and smile and then grab your coat and go for a fag. See if he follows.”

“This is so stupid.” You said, taking a deep breath. Obviously you knew who Joseph Quinn was. You never really gave it much thought but definitely thought he was attractive, just like every one else.

“Just do it!”

“Fine!” You gritted through closed teeth.

You took the last gulp of lager and grabbed your coat, walking towards the beer garden, but not before shooting him your best smile you could muster up.

Your eyes connected for a brief moment and you felt your spine tingle.

The air outside was chillier than when you’d arrived at 6pm.

You leaned against the brick wall and pulled out a cigarette and lighter. Even though Eleanor had practically kicked you outside, you would’ve stepped out for a smoke at one point or another.

You were outside for about two minutes alone with the other drunks when the back door opened and out stepped Joseph. You could tell it was him even through your peripheral. He just had aura about him.

Slowly walking over to you, he pulled out his own smoke to pop between his lips.

“Hi.” He said with a sweet, bashful look.

“Hey.” You smiled shyly.

“Do you mind if I pinch your lighter?”

You didn’t say anything, just shyly getting your zippo out of your pocket and flicking it open, igniting the end of his cigarette and ignoring the thumping in your chest.

“Thanks.” He said, moving his head back slightly and taking a long draw.

There was short silence between the two of you until he spoke up again.

“I’m Joe, by the way.” You smiled down at you.

Wow, he was incredibly attractive this close.

“I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N.” He repeated, not breaking eye contact. “What do you do, Y/N?”

“I work in television, actually.”

“Oh really? That’s really cool. So do I.” He seemed rather excited.

“Yeah, I know.” You giggled.

“Yeah, I figured you probably did. I guess anonymity isn’t really an option for me anymore.” Joe seemed rather tense now. Perhaps he was hoping you didn’t know who he was and he’d have a real conversation for once.

“Probably not. But hey, it’s not like I’ve never been around a famous person before. I do work in television after all.” You reassured.

“So what exactly do you do in television.” He asked, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“I’m a production manager.”

“Oh wow, what have you worked on?” Joe asked you, gazing down at you.

“Uh, I worked on Fleabag, Broadchurch, a show called Sherwood. Couple things like that.” You began to get shy again. Here you were, telling a famous actor about your boring job, probably the pants back on him.

“What do you have to do exactly when you work on a show?”

“Well, I basically organise location, actors, crew, funding, marketing, all that sort of stuff…” you began to explain and Joseph looked actually genuinely interested. This never usually happened. Whenever your friends dragged you out and you began chatting to a guy, he always seemed so bored when you spoke about your job.

Not Joe, though. He was listening intently and asking actual questions and sometime during the time you’d been speaking, you both stubbed out your cigarettes and he’d stepped closer to you.

You only realised how long you’d been talking when Eleanor popped her head out to tell you they were leaving now.

“Oh, uh yeah. I’ll be right there.” You said to her before turning back to Joe.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise how late it had gotten.” You smiled.

“Yeah, neither.” He smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I actually had a really good time talking to you, though.” You said sincerely.

“Yeah, me too.” He smiled back.

There was a beat silence as the two of you just looked at each other. You gave him one last smile and turned to walk back inside to your friends, silently praying that he’d ask for your number or offer to walk you home or at least something.

You’d almost made it to the door when you heard Joe swiftly turn on his heal and call out to you.

“Can I have your number?” He asked, rather frantically, like he’d almost missed his shot.

You turned back to him with a small, shy smile.

“Yeah.” You giggled. “Okay.”

[whatsupsonnyboy]

the first time || Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: The first time you and Joe meet, something clicks—quiet but unmistakable. Like the start of something that doesn’t need to be explained. And really, who were you trying to fool?

wc: 7.3K

warning: smut (mdni!!), p in v sex, protected and unprotected sex, fluff, midly slow burn (but not really lol), there's just lots of sweet boy joe and amazing sex

a/n: hey, so as i've already post about, i've been writing a bunch of one shots of how it might feel (in my mind ofc) to be in a relationship with this golden boy... so here it is, the first one. I'll post more eventually, it’s not really a story with parts but more like a collection of scenes that pop into my head (find the rest here). They’re not directly connected, but they all belong in the same universe. Hope you enjoy it! 🫶🏾

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

You hadn’t planned to stay long.

Just a drink or two. Say hi to Wes. Smile politely, maybe sneak out before midnight with the excuse of a fake early morning.

But then he was there.

You didn’t even notice him at first—just another face in the mix, half-shadowed by the glow of string lights and the low thrum of music. But then he laughed. God, that laugh. Low and rough and golden around the edges. And when you turned to look, really look, he was already looking at you.

That was the first hit. The first crackle of something electric and new.

Wes introduced you. Casual. Effortless. And suddenly you were standing closer than necessary, drinks in hand, eyes locked, trading names like they meant something more.

He was funny. Way funnier than he had any right to be. And warm. Charming in a way that wasn’t performative, but lived-in. Like he didn’t need to impress anyone but couldn’t help doing it anyway.

You asked about his work—half curious, half testing. He didn’t dodge, didn’t show off. Just smiled, scratched the back of his neck, and said, “I love it. Even when it’s a mess. Maybe especially then.”

You nodded, because you got it. Because you were already thinking the same thing about him.

Time blurred after that. Drinks refilled. Conversations spiraled—music, books, worst dates ever, the best breakfast food after 2 a.m. You laughed so hard at one of his stories you had to cover your mouth with your hand, and he just grinned at you like you were his new favorite thing.

When people started leaving, neither of you moved. You were leaned into each other now, shoulders brushing. His fingers drummed absently on his glass. Yours curled around the edge of the sofa like they wanted to close the space.

So when he offered to walk you home, it didn’t feel like a decision.

It felt like the natural next breath.

You walked through the quiet streets, city humming softly around you, your conversation dipping into silences that weren’t awkward, just charged. Your arms bumped once. Then again. And neither of you apologized.

By the time you reached your building, the air felt thicker somehow. Like it knew.

You paused outside the door, keys in hand, heartbeat tapping like a warning or a dare.

“Do you wanna come up?” you asked.

And he—of course he did.

The elevator was quiet, slow, and small enough that your shoulder brushed his again. This time, he didn’t pretend it was an accident.

He looked at you—really looked at you—and that was it.

You kissed him.

There was no hesitation. No awkward pause. Just the sharp inhale before your mouths collided, hot and eager, like you’d both been waiting for permission all night.

His hand cupped the back of your neck. Yours slid into his hair. You kissed like the elevator could betray you at any moment, like you only had seconds, and every one of them mattered.

When the doors slid open on your floor, your lips were still touching, your breath caught between kisses.

And you have no idea what you were doing, but it felt so right that questioning yourself about it wasn’t even an option. 

-

The door clicked shut behind him, but he barely registered the sound. Your hand was still in his, and your smile—soft, a little crooked—was the only thing anchoring him.

You tugged him gently into the apartment, fingers laced with his like it had been that way for years.

No small talk. No tour. No hesitation.

Just the unspoken hum that had been building all night, finally breaking the surface.

When you turned to face him, your lips already parted, he didn’t wait. He kissed you like he needed to. Like the moment he’d felt your mouth in the elevator hadn’t been nearly enough.

You tasted like wine and something sweeter he couldn’t name. Your arms circled his neck, pulling him closer, and he groaned into your mouth when your hips pressed into his.

It hit him all at once—how good this felt. How easy. The way your bodies seemed to move in sync, like instinct, like muscle memory from a dream he hadn’t realized he’d been having.

You gasped into his mouth, and that sound—sharp and breathless—lit him up like a live wire.

His hands found your waist, then your back, then slid lower, gripping your ass as he pulled you closer. He was hard already, pressed up against you through his jeans, and when you shifted just right, grinding into him with a little roll of your hips, he swore under his breath.

“Fuck, okay,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded, mouth dragging down to your neck. “You—god, you feel insane.”

You laughed, but it caught in your throat when he bit gently just beneath your ear.

Then everything sped up.

Your jacket hit the floor. Then his. His fingers were under your shirt, warm and demanding, tracing up your spine as if memorizing you. You didn’t hesitate—you lifted your arms, let him peel the fabric off you like a second skin.

He stared.

Because shit.

You stood there in a bra that barely held you in, chest rising fast, eyes blown wide. You looked wrecked already—and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

“You’re...” He exhaled hard. “Jesus, you’re unreal.”

And when he kissed you this time, it wasn’t sweet. It was starving.

He backed you into the couch, hands everywhere—pushing, pulling, gripping, needing. You tugged at his shirt until it was gone too, and your hands ran across his chest like you couldn’t decide where to touch first. He loved that. The urgency. The want in you.

When your mouth landed on his jaw, then slid lower, biting down on the edge of his collarbone, he groaned—loud, filthy.

“You’re driving me fucking insane,” he panted, rutting against your thigh without even meaning to.

Your hand dropped to his waistband, teasing. “Yeah?” you whispered, voice wrecked and dangerous.

He nodded, helpless.

“Then let me.”

The way you said it—it wasn’t a question.

You palmed him through his jeans, slow and confident, watching the way his breath hitched, the way his eyelids fluttered. He wasn’t used to being this undone this fast. But you had him—already.

His hands slid behind your back, unclasped your bra with practiced fingers, and when the straps slipped off your shoulders, he barely gave you time to react before his mouth was on you. Tongue and teeth and lips, worshipping, making you moan—fuck, that sound, he’d chase it forever.

The way you arched under him, like every touch was too much and not enough.

The way you gasped his name like it was the only word you remembered.

It was pure heat. Messy and fast and real.

And when you whispered, breathless, “Come to bed,” your lips swollen, pupils blown wide, he didn’t even hesitate.

He didn’t care about tomorrow. Or what this was. Or where it might lead.

All he knew was that he needed to feel your body under his. Needed to hear you fall apart.

And if he was lucky, he’d get to wake up beside you.

You led him by the hand, your steps quick, your breath even quicker. The apartment wasn’t big, but every second it took to reach the bedroom felt like an eternity stretched tight with want.

The moment you were through the door, you turned to face him, pulling him in again like you couldn’t stand the distance. Your back hit the edge of the bed and you kissed him like you meant to steal the air from his lungs.

He smiled against your lips when you fumbled with the button of his jeans, your fingers slightly clumsy in your rush. You cursed softly, laughed under your breath.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“Don’t be.” His voice was low, rough. “It’s perfect.”

And it was.

Every little misstep, every shaky inhale, every wide-eyed second of wonder—it was perfect.

His jeans hit the floor. Then yours. You tugged at each other’s underwear with a mix of eagerness and surprise, and when he finally kicked his off and you stood in front of him completely bare, his breath caught in his throat.

You were stunning. Not just beautiful—though, fuck, you were—but alive. Lit up from within. Chest rising fast, lips parted, looking at him like he was something you couldn’t wait to taste.

And god, he wanted to be tasted.

You lay back on the bed, pulling him with you, and he followed without hesitation, settling between your legs, both of you skin-to-skin for the first time. It was overwhelming. It was right.

Your hands roamed his back, his shoulders, your mouth brushing along his jaw, and he felt everything. Every inch of contact. Every trembling breath.

And when he dipped his head to kiss your chest again, slower this time, your fingers tangled in his hair, your hips lifted into his without thinking.

“I don’t have—” he began, breath hitching.

“In the drawer,” you whispered.

He reached blindly, found the condom, tore the wrapper with shaking fingers. You helped him roll it on, your touch so tender it nearly broke him.

He looked at you once more, one hand cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“You good?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded. “Yeah. I want this.”

Fuck. So did he. More than he could admit out loud.

The second he pushed into you, slow and deep, your mouth fell open with a gasp that echoed straight through his chest.

“Fuck—” he groaned, breath catching, head dropping against your neck. You were tight, so wet around him it was almost unbearable. His fingers dug into your hips, like anchoring himself was the only way not to lose it too fast.

And you—you arched into him, legs curling higher around his waist, nails dragging down his back.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, voice already wrecked. “So fucking good.”

Joe swore under his breath. He could barely think. Could barely hold back. The heat between you was blinding, raw, something feral clawing at his insides.

He pulled back, thrust in again, and your body met his with such perfect rhythm that his control slipped a little—hips snapping harder, breath rough in your ear.

Your hands roamed down his back, fingers brushing the dip of his spine, then slipping between your bodies until they were there—on your clit, teasing yourself as he fucked into you.

“Oh fuck, yes,” you moaned, back arching, head thrown back. “Right there, just like that—”

Joe looked down at you, eyes dark and hungry, and the sight of your hand moving against yourself while he was buried deep inside you… it undid him.

“Jesus, you’re gonna kill me,” he growled, grabbing your wrist, replacing your fingers with his own. “Let me.”

You whimpered, hips jerking as he rubbed slow circles, watching you unravel for him. Your face. Your breath. The way you bit your lip to muffle the sounds that wanted to break free.

“Let them hear you,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Don’t hold it in. I want every fucking sound.”

You obeyed.

You moaned like the world was ending. Like no one had ever touched you right until now. His name on your tongue, over and over, like a spell that made you shake.

He was losing it.

You clenched around him, again and again, dragging him deeper, and he couldn’t stop the filth that poured out of him.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he muttered, voice shaking. “So perfect. Taking me like you were made for it.”

You whimpered beneath him, hips rolling in rhythm with his, and then your hand was on him, cupping the back of his neck, pulling him down to kiss you like it was the only way to stay grounded.

You kissed him open-mouthed, messy, tongues sliding together, both of you panting, slick with sweat, chasing something neither of you could name.

When you broke away, your voice was hoarse, breathless.

“Harder, Joe. Please—fuck, don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

He grabbed your thigh, lifted your leg higher over his hip and started thrusting harder, deeper, until the sound of skin against skin filled the room.

You cried out, high-pitched and desperate, and your walls tightened so suddenly around him he swore.

“Oh my god—” you gasped, and then you were falling apart, shaking, clenching around him so tight it pulled a raw, broken moan from his chest.

Your orgasm hit you like a wave, and he felt it—watched it—his fingers still working your clit through it all, not letting up.

“Fuck, you’re so—so fucking perfect—” he stuttered, barely holding on. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—”

Your mouth brushed his ear, breath hot. “Come inside me, baby. Come for me.”

And that was it.

He came with a groan, hips stuttering, pulse racing, holding you so close he thought he might crush you. You took every second of it—his shaking, his panting, the broken way he whispered your name like it was salvation.

Then silence.

Then breath. Tangled limbs. Sweat. Skin against skin.

And the most beautiful fucking quiet.

He stayed inside you, forehead resting against yours, both of you trembling.

You exhaled a shaky laugh. “Holy shit.”

He smiled, dizzy and wrecked. “Yeah. Holy fucking shit.”

-

Your breathing was still uneven when he collapsed beside you, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. His skin was warm and damp, and yours probably wasn’t any better. But when his arm instinctively reached for your waist and pulled you closer, it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

There were no words. Just the soft rustle of sheets and your fingertips drawing lazy, invisible patterns over the curve of his bicep. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head—gentle, almost reverent—and you let out a quiet sigh, one of those that come not from tiredness, but from fullness. Overwhelmed in the best possible way.

And you stayed like that. Breathing together. Letting your bodies cool down but your connection settle in deeper. There was nothing awkward. No pressure. Just warmth. Familiarity. His thumb brushing your side. Your knee nudging his softly under the sheets.

You didn't mean to fall asleep. But you did.

And somehow, when your eyes blinked open hours later, he was still there.

The light was pale and golden, sneaking in through your curtains. Your bedroom looked dreamlike, still hazy with sleep and the remnants of the night before. You turned slightly and found him already looking at you, face resting on the pillow, eyes still heavy-lidded, hair a mess of curls flattened on one side.

And it didn’t feel weird. Not at all.

“Hi,” you whispered, voice still raw from sleep.

He smiled, lazy and crooked, and it made your stomach do something ridiculous.

“Hi,” he echoed, voice low and warm and sleepy. “You drool a little, you know.”

You gasped, pushing at his chest with the back of your hand, laughing despite yourself. “You liar.”

“Swear on my life.” He grinned. “Just a little. Cute though.”

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow, but he only laughed, that soft, raspy morning laugh that already felt too intimate. Too familiar.

Like you’d heard it a hundred times before.

When you peeked out again, he was still watching you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to memorize something.

“I usually hate sleeping next to someone,” he murmured.

Your heart skipped.

“But with you…” He shrugged slightly. “Didn’t even notice. Slept like a baby.”

You smiled then—slow, genuine, a little unsure. Because what were you supposed to say to that?

He shifted closer, his forehead gently bumping yours, and you felt his hand stroke slowly up and down your arm. His thumb brushed over a spot on your shoulder, then traced lazy circles on your skin.

Neither of you said anything else. There was no need. 

Eventually, you turned, slow and careful, until your back was pressed to his chest and his arm slipped around you without hesitation. His hand settled on your stomach, warm and still.

You let out a soft sigh and nestled into him, your legs tangling under the covers. For a moment, everything was quiet—breath and body, shared warmth, the steady thud of his heart against your spine. Then his fingers shifted, just slightly. Slid lower.

The first thing you felt was heat—his chest pressed against your back, the slow roll of his hips, still half-asleep but already there, already hard. Your breath caught as his hand skimmed your stomach, fingers brushing lower, exploring like he hadn’t had his fill last night. Like he’d only just begun.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick, scratchy with sleep. “You’re already—”

“Yeah,” you whispered, shifting your hips back against him, shameless.

He groaned, the sound low and desperate, and you could feel it vibrate through your spine. His lips found the spot behind your ear, open-mouthed, warm, lazy like everything about that morning, but hungry in a way that made your pulse spike.

“You sure?” he murmured, fingers sliding between your thighs now, stroking through the wetness he found there, drawing a sound out of you that was all need. 

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes, and he looked wrecked already—his curls a mess, his gaze still soft with sleep but blown wide with want.

“Yeah,” you breathed, not hesitating. “Just finish outside.”

He stilled for a moment. Just a beat. Long enough for the gravity of it to flicker in his eyes. But then you reached back, guided him to you, and that flicker turned to fire.

“Fuck—okay. Okay.”

The first push inside was slow, careful, but deep—achingly so. You both gasped, your body stretching to take him, his hand gripping your hip like it was the only thing anchoring him to the planet.

“Jesus… you feel amazing” he whispered, half in awe, half in disbelief. 

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, forehead dropping to the pillow as he began to move, drawing back, then pressing in again with that maddening control. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

And he didn’t. He couldn’t have even if he tried.

It wasn’t frantic—this wasn’t a race. But it wasn’t slow either. It was deep. Focused. Like he was trying to memorize every inch of you from the inside. His hand slid under you, fingers finding your clit, stroking in tight circles as he thrust, eyes fixed on the spot where your bodies met like it might disappear if he blinked.

“You take me so fucking well,” he muttered, voice shaking. “So good like this. So—shit—warm. Wet. Fuck.”

Your mouth dropped open, hands gripping the sheets as the pressure built, deep and consuming. Every snap of his hips sent sparks up your spine, every stroke of his fingers wound you tighter.

“Joe—”

“Say it again.”

“Joe—oh my God—”

He bent over you, his chest flush to your back, lips brushing your shoulder, your neck, your ear.

“Feel how deep I am?” he murmured, cock pulsing inside you. “I can feel you gripping me, baby, fuck—don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”

You came with a strangled cry, your body locking around his, muscles fluttering, your whole self unraveling in waves. He thrust once, twice more, desperate now, but then pulled out with a groan—messy, hot, and helpless as he came on your lower back, one hand braced on the mattress, the other gripping your hip like it might keep him from flying apart.

His breath was ragged, your name half-formed on his tongue, and for a second, all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears and the high-pitched whine of satisfaction in your bones.

You lay there, both of you trembling, panting, your bodies still joined, sweat cooling between your skins.

There were no words. Just the beat of your hearts, too fast and completely in sync.

He kissed your shoulder, once, twice. You reached back to touch his thigh, his hip—anything to anchor him to you. To keep him right there.

And for a moment, neither of you moved. No guilt. No fear. 

Just skin. Breath. Fire. Somehow, trust.

You lay there, breathing together, warm and safe beneath the quiet weight of morning. Your legs tangled again. His hand resting on your hip. His thumb started drawing circles along your arm as he could memorize you by touch.

And when you finally started drifting off again, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, he pressed one last kiss to your temple.

Soft. Unthinking. Like second nature.

You smiled against his chest.

Neither of you meant to fall asleep again. But you did.

And somehow, that felt like the most intimate part of all.

- 

The second time you woke up, it was to the scent of coffee and the quiet sound of someone humming off-key in your kitchen.

For a moment, you thought you’d dreamt the whole thing—until you stretched, and the ache between your thighs reminded you vividly that you hadn’t.

You reached for a hoodie, padded barefoot into the living room, and there he was—standing by the stove in nothing but his boxers and one of your oversized mugs in hand. His curls were still a mess. His back was turned, but when he heard your footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

“Morning, again,” he said, handing you the mug without missing a beat.

You took it, fingers brushing his for a second too long. “You made coffee?”

He shrugged, modest and smug all at once. “Well, I didn’t burn anything, so technically I made magic.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and sat on the edge of the couch as he poured his own cup.

It was easy. Too easy.

The kind of morning where you both felt like you’d skipped a few steps. Like you were already past the awkward stage. You talked about nothing in particular—your mutual distaste for early mornings, how Wes never mentioned either of you to the other (the bastard), the fact that you both hated people who didn’t rinse their dishes before putting them in the sink.

He made you laugh. A lot.

And at some point, still barefoot, hair wild and shirtless, he leaned against the counter and said, “Last night was… not what I expected.”

You looked up from your coffee, raising an eyebrow. “Disappointed?”

“God, no,” he said immediately, then softened. “It was just—better. More. You know?”

You nodded. Because you did know.

There was something about it. About him. About this. And you could both feel it pulsing under the skin, but neither of you tried to name it.

Eventually, the time came. He went to grab his things—shoes, phone, jacket—and you trailed after him, not quite ready to say goodbye, but not wanting to be that person either.

He stood by the door, pulling his jacket on, one arm still half out of the sleeve, when he turned to you with a smirk.

“So… am I allowed to ask for your number, or is this one of those magical one-night-stand rules where I disappear like a gentleman and we pretend we don’t exist?”

You blinked, then laughed, genuinely caught off guard. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Flattering,” he replied. “But I’ll take it as a yes?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your phone. “Give me yours. I’ll text you.”

He rattled off the digits, and you sent a simple “Hi” before he even finished spelling out his last name.

He looked at his screen, smiled, then looked back at you like he was about to say something else—but didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed your cheek. Soft. Warm. Familiar, again. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“See you around,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the edge of your jaw.

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut, and the silence he left behind was anything but empty.

It was full.

Full of something unnamed but very, very real.

-

You never had the talk.

No labels, no declarations, no drawn-out conversations about what this was or where it was going. It just was.

He texted you that same afternoon. Something dumb and funny. A meme you still had saved in your camera roll. You answered. And he answered back. And suddenly, you were talking every day. Not constantly, but consistently. Steadily. Like the kind of tide that always comes back to shore.

The first time you met up again, it was spontaneous. He was nearby. You had an hour to kill. You grabbed coffee and sat in the park. He stole your cookie. You punched his arm. He kissed you mid-laughter, with your cup still in hand, and just like that—there it was again.

That thing.

And then came the nights. The way his hand would slide against the small of your back as you opened the door. The way he’d kiss you like he’d been waiting for days, even if it’d only been hours.

You’d fuck on the couch. In your kitchen. Sometimes barely making it to the bedroom.

It was intense. Messy. Addictive.

But never rushed.

He made you laugh mid-moan. You pulled his curls just to hear the sound he made when you did. He always made sure you came first—sometimes second—and then held you like he couldn’t stand the idea of leaving. Sometimes he stayed. Sometimes you did.

You shared breakfast. Showers. Bad TV. Inside jokes. His hoodie. Your leftovers.

Somehow, he learned how you liked your tea. You learned what cologne he wore. He kept a spare toothbrush in your bathroom. You found one of your scrunchies on his nightstand once.

And none of it felt like a big deal.

It was just natural.

You’d text him something random at 1AM. He’d reply with a voice note that made you laugh out loud in bed. You'd call him when your day sucked. He'd show up at your door with snacks and that face that made everything easier.

You never talked about exclusivity. You never needed to.

Because even if no one had said it aloud, you both already knew.

It wasn’t casual. Not really.

And still, neither of you used the word "relationship."

But it didn’t matter.

Because every time he kissed your forehead before leaving, every time he whispered “sleep tight” like a secret, every time you caught him staring like he was still surprised you were real—something in your chest softened.

Something in you knew.

And maybe you weren’t officially together.

But your hearts hadn’t gotten the memo.

-

He didn’t really notice when it started to change. Maybe that was the point.

There was no sudden shift, no dramatic realisation. Just a quiet accumulation of small things that began to matter more than he expected.

Like the way his phone would light up and he already knew it was you. The way your name on the screen felt like a hit of dopamine—something in his chest unclenching without him even realizing it. The way the days stretched a little too long when he didn’t hear from you.

He started keeping snacks you liked in his apartment without thinking. He started recognizing your routines—how you stole his hoodie when it got cold, how you took your coffee with oat milk and exactly one sugar, how you always asked if he’d eaten after a long shoot. He noticed the way you hummed softly when brushing your hair, and how your laughter lingered in his apartment long after you'd gone.

He hadn’t planned to stop seeing other people. It just happened. Not out of obligation. Out of instinct.

You stopped replying to those flirty messages. He stopped swiping right out of boredom.

It wasn’t something you ever discussed. There was no awkward conversation, no labels. Just a quiet understanding—like turning down the volume on a song that didn’t hit the same anymore.

One night, Wes texted him asking if he was going out to their usual bar, and Joe found himself replying, “With her tonight.” He didn’t even think twice.

“You seeing her now?” Wes asked.

He stared at the screen for a while. Not officially. Not technically. But yeah. Yeah, he was.

And maybe the most surprising part was that none of it scared him. Not like it used to.

There was this night—you were curled up on his couch in his shirt, eating cereal at midnight, laughing at something stupid he’d said. And he watched you, spoon halfway to his mouth, thinking, Fuck. I really like her.

He didn’t say it. Of course not. But it was there. In the way he touched your back without thinking, or the way he waited for your laugh to fade before kissing you.

He got used to you without realizing.To the way your shoes sat by the door when you stayed over. To the way you wrapped yourself around him in your sleep, like his body was where yours belonged. To the way the silence between you didn’t press down—it settled around you both, warm and easy, like a shared blanket.

He hadn’t realised how much space you'd taken up in his life until he was scrolling through his photos one night and found more of you than anything else. Pictures you didn’t even know he’d taken—your head thrown back in laughter, curled up with a book, sleeping against his chest.

He remembered waking up before you one morning, the light slipping through the blinds, your arm thrown across his stomach, your hair a mess, your face half-buried in the pillow. He just laid there, watching. Not because he was having some big epiphany. Just because it felt nice.

Then came that Tuesday. You were in the bathroom, hair up in a messy knot, brushing your teeth with one hand and scrolling on your phone with the other, wrapped in his old t-shirt like it belonged more to you than him. Joe sat on the edge of the bed and watched.

Not in a creepy way. In a shit, this feels good kind of way. In a please don’t let this go anywhere kind of way.

You caught him staring—of course you did. You always did. Mouth full of toothpaste, you raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He just grinned. “Nothing.”

But he meant everything.

Because it wasn’t just the way you looked in the morning, or how you always denied stealing the blanket.It was the way you’d become his soft place to land. It was the cardigan draped over his chair. The mugs in the sink with your lipstick on the rim. The playlist on his Spotify titled hers.

The lines between you and him had blurred so gently, it didn’t even feel like change.

It just felt right.

And no, he hadn’t said it out loud yet. But when you fell asleep with your head on his chest and his arm pulled you closer like instinct, he didn’t need to.

You probably already knew.

-

He’d been pacing around the apartment for most of the afternoon, fingers stained with ink from scribbled notes, corners of scripts folded and dog-eared, empty mugs lining the coffee table like some modern art installation of a man losing his grip. The flat smelled faintly of coffee, highlighters, and the Thai food box he had grabbed in that small local in front of his gym and barely touched.

His phone buzzed earlier—your name lighting up the screen like a small calm in the storm.

“hey, out for a bit but I’ll swing by around eight?”

He’d smiled when he read it. A quiet kind of smile, the kind that tugged at the corners of his mouth even as his eyes were half-glued to a page of dialogue he couldn’t get right.

“Perfect. I’ll order pizza.”

And then he forgot about it. Not you, exactly. Just the time. The waiting. The worrying about whether you’d show or not. You’d said you’d come, and that was enough. You’d always done what you said so far. He trusted that. Trusted you. It was himself he didn’t quite trust lately.

The new script was a minefield. The director intimidating. The pressure building behind his temples like a storm he couldn’t quite outrun. Somewhere between scene fourteen and seventeen, he pulled his hair back into a tie and rubbed his face with both hands, muttering something half-human under his breath.

He hadn’t even realized the sun was already setting when Wes’s name lit up on his screen.

“you bailing on us tonight?”

He blinked, thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Had plans. Next time i swear”

A beat. Then another buzz. Wes had sent a photo.

Dim pub lighting. Clinking glasses. And you—laughing. Head tilted toward someone familiar. Keith. A friend of a friend. All easy charm and textbook good looks. The kind of guy who always had too much confidence and not enough shame. His arm wasn’t touching you, not exactly. But it was close.

“well… maybe you should reconsider”

And that—that—was when it hit.

A flash of something ugly and electric shot straight through his gut. Not quite anger. Not quite panic. Just that instinctive, animal sting of I don’t want anyone else that close to her.

He tossed the phone onto the couch, harder than necessary.

Fuck. He didn’t want to care. Hadn’t planned on caring. You weren’t his girlfriend. You hadn’t talked about exclusivity, or commitment, or any of that. You were just… seeing each other. Spending time together. Sleeping together.

But still.

He ran a hand over his mouth and stared at the photo again.

Just a few hours ago, he hadn’t had a single thought like this about you. You were the one thing not stressing him out.

Now, you were burning a hole in his brain.

He flipped his phone face down. Then face up. Then picked it up again. He’d stared at the photo so long it had burned itself into his vision. The way you were laughing, the exact curve of your shoulder leaning toward Keith. The lighting didn’t help. It could’ve been a casual moment, an ordinary conversation. But in his head, it had already become something else. A whole story.

Keith. That charming asshole with an ego bigger than his biceps. The kind of guy who calls waitresses “princess” and still manages to get dates. It wasn’t jealousy—at least, not exactly. It was a sharp, nagging sting of insecurity. Of fear. Fear that you were out there realizing you could be with someone easier. Less complicated. Someone who didn’t have their brain split between you and a script that read like ancient code.

He stared at a fixed point on the floor, leaning back on the couch, arms crossed, legs tense. The script beside him felt more like a threat than an opportunity. The notes he’d taken—now scattered across the table—looked like pieces of a mind that didn’t know where to begin.

He went to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, stared at himself in the mirror. Didn’t like what he saw. Came back to the living room. Sat down. Stood up. Turned on the TV. Turned it off. Checked the time: 8:04 p.m.

Not late. Not really. Four minutes was nothing. But to Joe, it felt like a century.

He walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge without knowing what he was looking for, then closed it again. The pizza he’d ordered—maybe a little too early—was already getting cold. Like him. Like everything.

He forced himself to sit back on the couch. Put on an old record—one of those he used when he needed to focus. But the needle barely hit the first chords before he got up again, restless. He went to the window. Pulled back the curtain. You weren’t there. Closed it. Opened it again. Closed it once more.

8:11.

���Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. He didn’t want to be that guy. The one spinning drama in his own head. The one building stories before the movie even started.

But there he was.

And the knot in his chest was pulling tighter by the minute.

Everything about the new film was overwhelming him. He wanted to scream at the ceiling. Throw the script against the wall. Nothing made sense. And the only thing that did—was you. It was you, goddammit. The one thing that didn’t need decoding. That felt simple, and somehow, impossibly huge at the same time.

That’s why it hurt. Because exactly for that reason, the idea of losing you—or worse, realizing you weren’t as in it as he was—felt unbearable.

And then, at 8:16, the doorbell rang.

His heart did this stupid little jump. He got up too fast. Felt that ridiculous urge to pull himself together, to act normal, to pretend he hadn’t been falling apart on the inside.

He wanted the sound of your arrival to reset everything.

But it wasn’t enough to quiet the noise. Not when the doubt was already echoing in his throat.

And when he opened the door… he didn’t know if he wanted to pull you into his arms or put you on the spot. If he wanted to kiss you or yell.

And that—exactly that—was what pissed him off the most.

-

You knew something was wrong the moment you saw his face. 

It wasn't the kind of wrong you could smooth over with a kiss or a joke about the pizza going cold.  It was the kind of wrong that sat heavy in the air, thick in your throat.

"Hey," you said, stepping inside. Smiling, out of instinct, even when your gut already knew better. "Sorry I’m late. I stopped by the pub for a bit, lost track—"

"Yeah," Joe said. Short. Sharp. Already turning away.

You shut the door behind you, heart picking up speed. The living room was a mess hunched over, papers scattered around him like a small, personal storm. 

He laughed, low and humorless. "I didn’t know if you were still coming."

You blinked. "I told you I was."

"Right," he muttered. "But maybe you were grabbing pizza with Keith instead"

You stared at him. "What?"

He grabbed his phone from the couch, tossed it onto the table. The screen still lit up with the photo: you, standing close to Keith, laughing over something stupid, a drink in your hand. Frozen mid-smile.

"Are you checking up on me now?" you said, a little sharper than you meant.

"Wes sent it." He raked a hand through his hair. "He was concerned."

Your stomach twisted. "No. You were concerned."

He laughed, but it was hollow. Bitter. "Yeah, well maybe I was, especially when I saw you smiling at him like that."

You stared at him, anger flickering up, hot and defensive. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to throw that at me when we never—"

"I know!" he cut you off, standing up suddenly, voice breaking. "I know we never said anything, okay? I know we were both just... assuming things and pretending it was all casual and cool and whatever the fuck, but it's not. Not for me."

The words hung there, raw and electric.

You stepped back, heart hammering, because it was true for you too. You just hadn’t said it. Hadn't dared.

"I’m not seeing anyone else," you said, almost without thinking. "I haven’t even thought about it since you."

He stared at you like you’d just said something unbelievable. Like maybe he didn’t deserve to hear it.

You swallowed hard. "And yeah, I was talking to Keith. Didn’t realize that’d be a fucking crime”. 

Joe closed his eyes for a second, like the weight of it physically hit him. When he opened them, he looked wrecked. And beautiful.

"I’m sorry," he said, hoarse. "I’m fucking scared, alright? I’ve got this project that’s swallowing me whole and half the time I think I’m gonna fail, and you’re the only thing that makes me feel like maybe I won't. Like maybe I’m not a complete fuck-up."

You felt your chest tighten, emotions crashing all over you.

"Then don't push me away," you said, stepping closer. "Don’t look for reasons to doubt this when I’m standing right in front of you."

He shook his head, almost helpless. "I don't want anyone else," he said, voice rough. "I don't even see anyone else anymore. It's just you."

You could feel your throat tightening, that sting behind your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay steady.

"It's you for me too," you whispered.

The silence felt thick and heavy and full of everything you hadn't said before tonight.

Then Joe moved — fast, almost clumsy — closing the space between you, pulling you into him like he couldn't bear the distance for a second longer. His mouth found yours in a kiss that wasn’t soft or careful — it was desperate, claiming, full of everything that had been burning between you for weeks.

And you let him. You let yourself fall into it, finally, completely. Because you knew. He knew. It was real.

You didn’t make it to the bedroom. You barely made it past the couch.

Joe kissed you like he meant it now. Like every inch of his mouth on yours came with a promise. No more holding back, no more ifs. Just you and him, here and now, and whatever the hell this was that had already swallowed you whole.

He pressed you against the wall, hands threading into your hair, breath hot and ragged against your cheek. "Fuck, I missed you," he groaned, like the hours apart had been unbearable.

"You had me yesterday," you gasped, tugging at the hem of his shirt, needing him bare, needing him now.

"Not like this." He pulled it over his head and dropped it to the floor, eyes hungry and tender all at once. "Not after hearing you say it."

You stilled for a second, chest rising too fast. "Say what?"

He leaned in, mouth brushing your jaw, your cheek, your ear. "That you wanted me. That you weren’t going anywhere."

You cupped his face in your hands, staring into those stupidly beautiful, frantic eyes. “I didn’t say it tonight, Joe.”

He blinked.

“I’ve been saying it every time I’ve come back.”

And then he lost it.

He picked you up, hands under your thighs, your legs wrapped tight around him, and carried you blindly through the apartment until you crashed into the edge of the bed. He didn’t even bother pulling the covers down.

Clothes disappeared like they were on fire.

His mouth was on your neck, then your chest, then lower—devouring, tasting, worshipping. You were already shaking by the time he slid inside you, both of you gasping like it hurt, like it healed.

“Jesus—fuck—you feel like home,” he choked out, burying his face in the crook of your neck, thrusting deep, slow, relentless.

You grabbed at his back, his hair, anything to ground yourself. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop.”

He didn’t.

He moved like you were the only thing keeping him together. Like if he stopped touching you, he’d fall apart entirely. The rhythm grew rougher, faster, but still so full. Not desperate. Claiming.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You gasped, eyes wide and wild. “I’m yours, Joe—fuck—I’ve been yours.”

He groaned into your mouth and slammed into you harder, and it wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It was real. It was raw and feral and exactly what both of you needed.

Your orgasm hit like a wave you didn’t see coming—hot and electric and blinding. And he followed almost instantly, moaning your name like it was a sacred word, collapsing on top of you, chest heaving, heart pounding against yours.

Silence.

Just the sound of breath and skin and the world finally slowing down.

You felt him shift, just enough to look at you. His eyes—open, vulnerable, like he’d just been cracked wide.

And then, softly, so softly—

“I love you.”

You blinked, breath still uneven.

And smiled.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I love you too.”

And just like that, there were no more questions.

Only answers written on skin, on sighs, on mouths still swollen from too much kissing.

[catherinnn]

Hunger for Touch

Joseph Quinn x reader

smut with switch! joe, wrote this trying to cope with all the content we're getting lately because i neeeddd himmmmm

It had been over two weeks of not seeing each other, sixteen days to be exact. You talked every day, but you missed seeing each other in person, you missed having a conversation without having to wait some minutes or even hours for a reply, or see each other without a glitch on the screen. You missed hugging, kissing, touching. And it showed.

As soon as you walk in the door coming home from work, he jumped on you.

"Oh!"

"Fucking finally" he grunts as he hugs you conpletetly covering you, towering you, wrapping you with his arms, making you feel small next to him.

You hug him back once the surprise effect passes. Kisses are shared in your mouths, cheeks, necks, frontheads, even hair. Just everywhere. Mixed with 'I missed you's and 'I love you's.

That transforms into walking over the couch where he sits, pulling you to sit on his lap. Sweet kisses become deeper, and hands start moving and wondering on eachother's bodies.

"Missed you so much, babe" he whispers against your mouth, his hands carresing your waist pulling you even closer.

"Yeah? You did?" you say in a soft tone, almost as if you didn't believe him. But it was all part of the game.

"Yeah," he breathly moans before another kiss, "so fucking much"

"Yeah?" you breath against him as well. As you slowly start moving your hips forward and then backward again. Sarting to grind down on him.

He kisses you somehow even deeper, and his hans start pulling on your shirt. You lift it over your head, and he wastes no time to start kissing your neck and unhooking your bra to then take it off as well.

He lowers his kisses to your breasts, and you grind harder on him to find some kind of relief.

He's holding you so tight you wouldn't be surprised to find purple marks later where his fingers were.

"Need you, baby" he confesses.

"Yeah? Where do you need me?" you tease him a little.

"Please, baby"

"Tell me Joe, what do you need?" you insist.

"Need you, need- need to be inside you" he stuggles to say, and you keep grinding, feeling his hard cock against your clit.

"Inside me?" you ask, but he's already nodding. "Yeah?"

You open his shirt quickly and then move your hands to his pants, where you fight a little to open it. He yanks his pants down as you take yours off, panties and all.

You sit on him again, and his hands quickly return to your hips, bringing you closer. You grab his dick softly. He's really hard, and his tip is red. You move to feel it against your entrance to then sink down slowly.

He throws his head back with a sigh, and you keep sinking down. You moan at the feeling of him inside you once again.

"Fuck, you're so tight" he moans as he grips you harder, definitely leaving marks on your hips.

You move up and down on his cock, quickly finding a rithm as he helps moving you with his hands.

"Oh, Joe" your head throws back now, arching your back at how good he feels. "You're so big"

He moans, and he starts moving you even faster. "Fuck, baby, I'm not gonna last long. Missed you too much"

"I'm not gonna last either, baby" you admit as well.

He leaves messy kisses all over your chest and neck. You feel his strong and marked shoulders and down to his arms. He's getting so muscly that it turns you on even more.

One of his hands goes down to your clit to start playing with it, making you move faster as you feel your climax getting closer.

"Are you close too? Gonna cum with me?" he asks suddently feeling dominant again.

"Yes, Joe!" you let him take control, and he starts moving you harder. "Oh, shit"

"Fuck, that's it. Cum with me, darling" he orders and you do as he says. Letting your climax take over your body while you moan his name.

He finishes seconds later griping you even harder but you can't find it in you to complain, it just added to the pleasure.

You stay with your head on his shoulder trying to find your breath and he does the same but with his head thrown back against the coutch's cushions.

After some minutes like that, you can think straight again. You leave a few kisses on his shoulder, up to his jaw. Then move to leave one last kiss on his lips, one that he returns happily.

"Hi" you finally say with a cheeky smile on.

"Hi, beautiful" he laughs.

[garciaasfluffypen]

bright beginnings pt 13

pairing: single dad!joseph quinn x fem!reader  wc: 1.5k  warnings: SMUT. MINORS DNI. wrap it before you tap it, besties it's time besties. what we've all been waiting for.

“joe-”

before you could finish your sentence, his hands were on your hips and you were up against the wall. looking into your eyes for any last minute objections, joe closed the gap between you two and dear god, you could feel the fireworks going off all around you. your arms wrapped around his neck in an attempt to pull him closer, needing to feel him. to be with him. slowly but surely you two made your way to the bedroom, hastily closing the door behind you before joe playfully tossed you onto the bed, causing a laugh to fall from your lips. he was on you in seconds again, hovering over you as you reached up to cup his cheeks. 

“do you want this?” you looked into his eyes, curiosity getting the better of you. “we can stop.”

“don’t stop, please god don’t stop.” 

lips crashed against yours again as you could feel joe getting lower and lower. finally, his hips met yours and a moan fell from your lips as you buckled up to meet him. the need in your core was growing and growing, and if he didn’t do anything about it soon you’d be going crazy. with a push to his shoulder you got him to help you sit up, wasting no time in grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling at it. within seconds, the shirt was on the floor and his hands were back to roaming the expanse of your body, slowly lifting up the shirt you had on. with a swift nod of your head, the shirt was off and haphazardly thrown somewhere on the floor with joe’s. joe sat back for a second to admire you, holding your wrists lightly so you didn’t wrap your arms around your waist like you had done earlier in the night. he gently pushed you back against the pillows and moved some hair away from your neck before he started to make his way down your jawline, placing feather light kisses as he did so. your back arched as his calloused hands made their way down your sides, leaving ghost-like traces of him everywhere he could. 

before you knew it, your bra was off and his lips were on you again and all you could focus on was him. the world around you two crumbled away as he kissed and suckled at your nipple, small moans falling from your mouth as you moved a hand to play with the curls atop his head. he switched to the other one, his free hand now moving to play with the nipple he was just attached to, the sensitivity getting more and more noticeable. he looked up at you through lidded eyes, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he started to trail kisses down your stomach. a whine escaped your lips as you tried desperately to reach for joe. almost as if he was reading your mind, he took his belt and pants off faster than you could comprehend, taking the opportunity to pull him back up to you and flip over so he was leaning back against the pillows now. your hands trailed down his chest and ended at the hem of his underwear. 

“can i?” 

a smile formed on his face. “of course. whatever you want.” 

his underwear joined the rest of the clothes and you watched as his dick popped up. you gently grabbed it with your hand, looking at him one last time for any last second take backs. when he signaled to you with a nod that it was okay, you put him in your mouth. both of you let out guttural groans, your core red hot and getting wetter at every sound joe made. he eventually grabbed you by the hand and pulled you up to him so you were hovering over him. 

“do you- i don’t…”

“i’m on the pill. just fuck me, joe.” 

“god you are so hot.” 

joe held onto you as you sank onto him, your head falling into the crook of his neck as you did so. the two of you sat there for a second, mainly for you to adjust to the new feeling inside of you, but it didn’t last long as your hips started rocking back and forth. joe got the hint and grabbed at your hips, moving them up and down slowly as you readjusted your knees to get a better angle. noises you’ve never heard yourself make before escaped as you started to move up and down, the pleasure flowing through your body in waves. without leaving your body, joe flipped you and rested you against the mattress, pulling you closer to the edge. your hands flew above your head as you laid there, hair spilling out behind you as joe continued his pace. you could feel yourself getting closer and closer, and if you focused hard enough, could tell joe was getting there as well. 

“i want it, i’m so close-- oh! don’t stop don’t stop!”

you could have sworn his eyes got darker with lust as his thrusts got sloppier. “that’s a dangerous statement, sweetheart.” 

“joe, please.” 

as if on cue, both orgasms hit you. it easily was one of the best sensations you had felt in a long time, and if you were being honest, you didn’t remember the last time a man had made you feel this way. joe’s thrusts slowed down as you both came down from your respective highs, slowly pulling out of you with a pop. you barely registered him leaving the room until you heard the door close to his bathroom, resulting in you leaning up on your elbows a bit. he came back out with a washcloth, slowly pushing your legs back open so he could wipe you off. you couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips at that simple gesture, turning beet red as you saw joe chuckle at you. 

“‘m sorry. i just… you’re very gentlemanly. i’m not used to this.”

“don’t be sorry, you’re very cute.” he tossed the washcloth into his laundry basket. “don’t forget to pee.”

“but what if i just want to lay here and not move ever again?”

“then you can pee on the bed.” joe held out a hand. “i don’t want you getting a uti.” 

you grabbed his hand, letting him help you up. “you are truly written by a woman.” 

“i-i’m not sure what that means.” 

“you cleaned me up after sex and are forcing me to pee so i don’t get a uti. usually guys will get dressed and leave.” 

joe looked quite surprised. “men do that?” 

“unfortunately.” you shrugged as you sat down on the toilet. “you’re going to make me not want to have sex with anyone else after that.” 

“who said i was going to let you?” 

you definitely choked on your own spit. 

“i-”

“you never answered my question earlier. about everything. about us.” 

oh.

“wait. i’m literally sitting on the toilet. lets wait til i’m not actively pissing before finishing this.” 

“you’re right, lemme just.. i’m gonna go get us some waters.” 

“yes okay good idea.”

joe awkwardly shuffled back out into the bedroom leaving you alone as he shut the door. you ran a hand through your hair and let out a breathy laugh.

yeah, you were never having sex with anyone but joe ever again. 

you went back to the bed, taking the glass of water from him after he got back in bed, curling into his side as he wrapped his arm around you. a blanket fell over your laps as you sat in a comfortable silence, basking in the fact that it finally happened. it was real, and it happened.

“y’know..you never really expect what’s coming for you, do you?”

your head tilted to the side. “huh?”

“you don’t. and that’s the fun thing about life. the craziness.” joe grabbed your hand, staring into your eyes. “its what brings you closer to those around you, you know? the chaos of everything, the timing... it’s never perfect, but the universe knows what it’s doing, and i’m so glad the universe led me here. led me to you.”

“joe…”

“please, let me finish. i need to say this before i chicken out.” he paused. “i want you in our lives, y/n. more than you’ll ever know. stay with us. with me.”

a smile formed on your face as you blushed. “you really like me?”

“so much. so so much. never leave me. i beg.” he dramatically pushed his face into your shoulder. “be mine, y/n. forever.” 

“you are so idiotic.” you ran a hand through his hair. “of course i’ll be yours. promise me one thing, though?”

joe looked up to you. “what’s that?” 

“i get to punch julia at least once.” 

with that, the two of you burst out in laughter, falling into the embrace of each other’s arms.  this was nice. it was… more than nice. it was everything you ever wanted in life. and it felt… perfect. 

it truly was a bright beginning.

[pinksatinpanties]

PRETTIEST GIRL IN THE ROOM ─ joseph quinn

GIF by freckledjoes

summary You'll try not to hate Joe for ghosting you.

pairing joseph quinn x actress!reader

wordcount 1.2k

⎯⎯  warning(s)  kissing | dating co-workers | rpf

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

You couldn’t hold it against Joe. As an adult woman, you knew better by now. Kisses don’t come with strings attached and just because a person kisses you, doesn’t mean they want to spend the rest of their life with you - especially if that kiss happened while both parties were drunk.

Which Joe made pretty apparent when he didn’t call you the morning after your kiss. Or the three mornings after that. Or the three months after that. All you had heard from Joe was his reaction notifications from the cast group chat when someone would send a Twitter meme made of the show. Everyone fancied one of Jackson’s character screaming “Well, you can shove your ham up your ass!” 

“Joekeery loved an image”

That’s all you got. 

You went about your life the way you always did between gigs: waitressing during the week, babysitting your friends’ kids on weekends, and sending out the odd self-tape in hopes your career wasn’t over before it had even begun. It was a nice, simple life. Not every actor was fortunate enough to afford a roof over their head in New York City, no matter how many doubles they worked. You consider yourself spoiled rotten every day. What could possibly be missing?

You didn’t date. That was probably part of the problem. That’s what made Joe’s silence ache so deeply. You wondered if it would change anything if he knew that the most action you had gotten in months before the kiss was getting catcalled in the streets. A simple kiss meant the world to celibate, touch starved women like you.

Maybe you should be the one to call him… And maybe you should crawl on your knees begging him to pay you a modicum of attention with “DESPERATE” written on your forehead in red Sharpie just to put the icing on the idiot cake. 

He popped into your mind way more often than he was welcome. At the grocery store when one of the songs he always played in the makeup trailer started harassing you over the intercom. In your kitchen when you removed fish bones from your salmon. In bed when you were trying to… Well, that’s no one’s business. 

“Guess who has two thumbs and just got renewed for a second season,” the director bubbled in the group chat.

“Oh, I love this game,” David texted. “This show. Our show got greenlit.”

It was time to shake it off. Not just for the sake of the show, but for your own sake. It wasn’t healthy to dwell so much on the past. 

On the first day back from hiatus, the producers and director had the cast sit for a table read of the first few scripts they had written. As Joe’s TV wife, you’d expect to be sitting next to him considering most of your scenes were together. Maybe you should talk to Joe and clear the air before the table read started. Yes. That’s the mature thing to do.

You arrived twenty-five minutes early - which is on-the-dot on time in the acting world. Joe wasn’t there when you arrived. Or ten minutes after you did. Or five minutes after that.The anticipation of Joe’s arrival was turning your stomach into knots. He was usually punctual. Surely, he wasn’t tardy because of you.

“Any word from Joe?” The director mumbled to his assistant. 

“Haven’t heard from him,” they replied.

You began to worry. Was he skipping out on the table read because he didn’t want to see you? Had his avoidance of you gone that far? He’d have to get over it eventually. He had a contract to fulfill. Just as you began your descent into a catastrophizing spiral, the clock struck eleven and Joe jogged into the room - beads of sweat forming at his hairline. “So sorry,” he panted. “Traffic was terrible.”

“It’s okay, we wouldn’t get started without our golden boy,” David teased. “I hear he’s up for sexiest man alive this year.”

Joe blew a short raspberry in response.

“Alright, alright, let’s get right into it, shall we? From the top of episode one.” The director chirped, no doubt relieved that he didn’t have to read Joe’s lines for him. “Interior. The Henderson bedroom. John and Jane Henderson lie in bed, covered only by their silk bed sheets. They’re snuggled up together. Post-coitus is implied.”

Say sike right now. You had never done a scene like this with Joe before. Never! The Henderson’s didn’t even have a scene like this in their honeymoon episode.

Of course this would be the first scene on the first day back after your first time seeing Joe after your first kiss. It was fan service. Every girl, guy, and person wanted to see more of Joe’s skin these days. But why did you have to be dragged into it?

You turned to look Joe in the eyes as you would have at any other table reading. Normal. This is normal. Business as usual. But it didn’t feel as easy as it was before. At first, you struggled to make eye contact and when you finally did, the intensity of his gaze made you blush a bit. Only a bit. The show must go on.

“That was amazing, sweetheart,” he scooped the line off the page and met your gaze again. 

God, the script writing was really going downhill this season, huh?

You sighed contently as the script dictated. “You’re tellin’ me!”

The whole cast chuckled.

The rest of the table read went on without a single hitch. After the ice was broken, things weren’t nearly as awkward as you dreaded they would be. The cast went through the entire table read five times before the lunch break. The first thing you did with your free time was approach Joe.

“You didn’t call.”

“Neither did you."

Fair, but not really because Joe was the one with a booming career and Joe was the one everyone tuned in to the show for and Joe was the one with most of the power in this dynamic and Joe was the one who initiated the kiss and infinitely many other reasons that he was to blame came to mind before you finally came to the conclusion that you didn’t call Joe because you were afraid of the possibility of rejection. What if you followed up only to find out that he wasn’t interested in you? Your low-self esteem convinced you that reaching out to a person like Joe was asking for embarrassment.

“So what now?” The rough exterior melted, revealing the vulnerable little girl inside that just wanted a boy to like her back.

“Well, that’s up to you,” he shrugged.

Not necessarily the answer you wanted. You just stared him down until he said more things.

“If it was just a drunken kiss, I understand. We’ll never speak of it again. We’ll keep things professional.”

“And if it wasn’t?” You murmured while making sure to avoid eye contact lest you be made a fool of for saying that.

“If it wasn’t… I’d like you to have dinner with me," he blushed. "Some time. If you… I dunno if you have free time- Well, of course you have free time, but I meant- If you want to have dinner,” he stammered and stuttered.

“I’d love to.”

Joe sighed in relief. “Great. Do you like Italian?” He smiled a bashful, closed lipped smile and it made the corners of his big, brown eyes crinkle.

“I love Italian.”

“I know a spot in the lower east side near Ludlow. Friday at eight? I’ll pick you up if you like.” God, his eyes.

The submissive in you wished he would stop worrying about what you like and make you do what he liked. The romantic in you found his sheepishness so charming.

“I’d like that,” you beamed.

[etherealxwitch]

i’m asking for one chance… one chance to do whatever i want, sir

[lovejosephquinn]

Text summary: Joe’s away filming Gladiator II and you’re missing him terribly.

A short and sweet fluffy affair with still pictures of gifs posted by @fyeaheddiemunson 🥰 ps: it wouldn’t let me post the gifs as more than one screen recording fs

[sweetprfct]

Strawberry Frosting

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Waking up from your nap, you found your husband Joe and your daughter, Rosie baking sugar cookies.

Author's Note: Okay, thanks a lot @ceriseheaven for talking about more girldad!Joe . I'm gonna be making more after this. Forgive me I'm still learning how to write fics with kids in it since it's not really my cup of tea most of the time. I hope you enjoy!

Wordcount: 1.9K

The sound of the mixer whirring in the late afternoon was what woke you up from your nap. You had decided to leave your little girl with your loving husband as you took a nap and relaxed for a while. You have spent your Saturday morning cleaning around the house and catching up on chores that you kept putting off during the week. Now, your back was hurting, you had a throbbing headache, and you needed some peace and quiet even just for an hour. 

Waking up at 4pm and seeing your husband covered in strawberry frosting was the last thing you expected to see. Getting up from your bed and making your way down the stairs, you paused in your tracks when you heard laughter and giggles echoing from the kitchen. You leaned against the doorframe and watched Joe turn the mixer on. 

The kitchen counters were covered in flour, drops of different liquid ingredients and dirty bowls and spoons. Your 3 year old daughter, Rosie, was sitting on the counter top, watching her father try his best to bake her some sugar cookies. It was moments like these that made you want this world to stop and just watch this moment over and over again. 

Rosie had always been a daddy’s girl, and you couldn't honestly blame her for being one. Joe loved to spoil her even before she was born. When you were pregnant, Joe would buy just about anything he could find at the store. 

“Don’t you think she would love this?” He picked up a stuffed pink bear, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Joe, didn’t you already get her a teddy bear?” 

“Yes, but this one is pink!” Joe argued. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle as Joe shrugged and placed the pink bear in the cart. He didn’t care if he already bought her the same one in a different color. If he thought she would love it, he would get it. 

The moment Rosie was born, you could instantly see her resemblance to Joe. Her big brown eyes and as she grew older, her hair was curly just like her father’s. He was his mini copy as what you would always say. Joe always had been such a good father. Even with his busy schedule, he refused to miss the big moments with you and Rosie. He would drop everything in an instant for the both of you, and you didn’t even know you could love him even more. 

“Mum!” Rosie exclaimed, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

You shifted your eyes at Rosie, who was pointing at you, her shirt and face covered in frosting.

“Hey, darling.” Joe smiled. “You’re awake. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you.” You grinned happily, making your way towards the kitchen counter.

You watched as Rosie reached her arms towards you. You chuckled softly, grabbing the kitchen towel to wipe her face from all the frosting. You have no idea what they have been doing, but they definitely made a mess in the kitchen.

“Oh my goodness!” You laughed softly, taking Rosie in your arms. “I think someone has been eating too much frosting.”

“We made sugar cookies.” Rosie smiled, pointing at the freshly baked cookies on the tray. 

“I see that. You and Daddy made it from scratch?” 

Rosie nodded her head, her brown curls bouncing. You smiled and shifted your eyes at Joe. He was still playing with the mixer as he tasted the frosting that he was making. He was wearing your floral apron, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of him. He had flour and pink frosting on his beard and cheek. He certainly looked like he had been trying his best to bake cookies for his daughter.

“Do you need help?” You asked, watching Joe sucked the frosting off his finger and made a disapproval expression.

“This is my second batch, and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” Joe shook his head, staring at the mixing bowl.

“Let me try.” You walked over to him, placing Rosie on your hip. 

You reached over to the bowl and sucked the frosting off your finger before making a face. 

“That’s so sweet.” You scrunch your face. “How much sugar did you put in this?” 

“It said five cups.”

Your eyes widened, “Five?!”

You walked around Joe and read the recipe in the recipe book and bit your lower lip. You gazed up at Joe and gave him your sympathetic eyes. The poor thing must be that tired because he read the instructions wrong.

“No, it’s five tablespoons of milk.” You said. “It’s three cups of powdered sugar.”

You heard Rosie giggle as Joe knitted his brows and leaned in towards you. He blinked a few times before slapping a palm on his forehead.

“Ohmygod, my eyesight is that bad now? I thought it said five cups!”

You laughed softly, caressing his back softly. You and Joe turned when you both heard Rosie laughed softly. Immediately, Joe raised a brow at her, his fingers poking her small tummy.

“That’s funny to you, yea?” Joe teased, tickling her on her side as Rosie kicked her feet and laughed harder.

You laughed, holding on to Rosie in your arms as she continued to squirm, while Joe continued to tickle her. 

“That’s funny, yea?” Joe asked. “You won’t have any cookies if you keep laughing at me.”

Rosie immediately went dead silent as she pouted and reached her arms towards Joe. Taking her up in his arms, Joe swung her around in the air, making her laugh before nuzzling his frosting covered face on hers. He left repeated kisses all over her face as Rosie laughed, kicking her feet in happiness. You couldn’t help but watch them together. They were so adorable like this, and you honestly didn’t even want to ruin the moment at all. 

Joe placed Rosie back on the kitchen counter as he wiped off the frosting that got stuck on her face from him. You grabbed the mixing bowl and dumped the bad frosting in the bin before washing it.

“Darling, I got it.” Joe murmured, hugging you from behind and kissing your cheek softly.

“Are you sure?” You raised a brow at him.

“Yes.” Joe smirked. “I know what to do now.”

Letting out a soft hum, you grabbed a clean kitchen towel to wipe off the excess water inside the mixing bowl before handing it back to him. You never tried to get in the way when it came to their daddy-daughter time. Leaning on the kitchen island, you watched as Joe read the instructions—carefully this time— and asked Rosie to hand him the ingredients. 

Together, they would measure the ingredients and dump it in the bowl before Joe would turn the mixer on. Sitting on the counter top, Rosie swung her legs excitedly, while Joe washed his hands and carried Rosie in his arms. 

“Strawberry frosting.” Rosie murmured, pointing at the perfect frosting that Joe had finally made.

“Let’s try it, yea?” Joe leaned Rosie forward in his arms as she dipped her finger on the frosting and smiled happily. 

“Good?” Joe asked, smiling at his daughter.

“Good!” Rosie gave him a thumbs up before turning her head towards you. “Mum, try it!” 

You grinned at them and walked around the counter. You stared at the bowl before dipping your finger on the frosting and tasted it. You could see Joe was waiting for your reaction, his eyes pleading that it had turned out better than the last two batches he had made. 

“How is it?” He asked. 

“Perfect.” You smiled. 

Joe pumped his fist into the air before giving Rosie a high five and placed her back on the counter again. You laughed softly, watching Joe grab the tray of cookies and place it on the plate next to Rosie. 

“Okay, darling.” Joe said. “Let’s decorate these cookies.”

As Joe grabbed a piping bag, he shoved some frosting in it before handing it to Rosie. You stood to the side and enjoyed the scene that was in front of you. You leaned forward against the counter, your chin on the palm of your hand as you watched them both. Joe helped Rosie decorate the cookies, making more mess in the kitchen as they laughed together. You could see the tiredness in Joe’s eyes, but you knew he refused to go get some rest until he was able to finish these cookies with Rosie. 

Joe had been promising Rosie all week that he would bake with her, but he had been super busy with filming, and he was glad that he had found time to spend time with her on this beautiful Saturday afternoon. However, Joe was filming late at night so he didn’t come home until this morning. 

“Wow!” Joe exclaimed, clapping his hands. “That looks so beautiful, darling.” 

You tilted your head as you watched Rosie add a mountain of pink glittery sprinkles on the cookie. You couldn’t help but chuckle softly as you walked over towards them. 

“Let me see.” You said, looking at the tray of sugar cookies with pink frosting and glittery sprinkles.

“That looks so beautiful.” You smiled at Rosie, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

Rosie picked up one of the cookies from the tray and reached it over for you to take a bite out of it. You let out a soft approving hum, chewing on the cookie and nodding your head. 

“Delicious.” You grinned, brushing her soft brown curls. “You and Daddy are such good bakers.”

“Yay!!” Rosie clapped her hands as you and Joe both laughed. 

You started picking up the dirty dishes and placed them on the sink and started washing them before you felt Joe’s strong arms wrapped around your waist. He hugged you from behind, setting his chin on your shoulder, grinning happily.

“I can handle that, love.” He whispered, kissing your cheek.

“Hmm…” You turned around as he yawned softly. 

You picked up a clean dish towel and wiped the frosting off his face. “You and Rosie get some rest, and I’ll finish up around here.”

“No, it’s my mess. Let me clean it up.” Joe argued. 

“No, no. You both go to the living room and relax. I can handle it.” You gave him a reassuring smile. 

“Okay, thank you.” Joe smiled, kissing you softly on the lips. 

“Just make sure to change her into a fresh shirt, please.”

“Will do!” Joe called out as he carried Rosie in his arms and walked out of the kitchen.

You couldn’t even feel frustrated or mad about all of this. Even if you had just deep cleaned the kitchen this morning, you were too caught up admiring the sight of them earlier. You couldn’t help but smile, thinking about how much Joe loves the both of you. How much he’d do anything for Rosie even if he was exhausted. 

Putting away the clean dishes back on the cupboard and wiping the kitchen counters, you placed a few cookies on a plate and made your way towards the living room. You could hear the movie Tangled playing on the television and the next thing your eyes caught made your heart swell even more. 

Joe was laying on the sofa with Rosie on top of his chest. Rosie’s soft curls were sprawled on Joe’s arm, her tiny arms wrapped around his neck. Joe’s one arm was underneath his head and his other one wrapped around Rosie’s body. His chest was rising and falling steadily as they both slept peacefully. 

You couldn’t help but just stand there and watch them for a moment. 

You certainly love this little family of yours. 

The End. 

********

Taglist:

@palomahasenteredthechat @sunvick @eddies-acousticguitar @demonsanddemogorgons @joesquinns @mmunson86 @ghostinthebackofyourhead @corrodedcoffincumslut @figmentofquinn @tlclick73 @munsonluvrr @ali-r3n @quinnyficsy @capricornrisingsstuff @missonlypost @ali-in-w0nderland @amberolivia666 @lalalala-melmosworld @niallersfreckles @nanas-lasagna @emma77645 @indulgence-be-thy-name @readergf @ladamari68 @1paire2vans @d4rk4ng3l86 @paleidiot @josephquinnsfreckles @readergf @mvnsonlover @mdurdenpitt @siriuslysmoking @blueleonor @bejeweled13swiftie @ceriseheaven

[whatsupsonnyboy]

skipping plans | Joseph Quinn

PAIRING: Joseph Quinn x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Morning vibes, messy hair, and endless cuddles — this is what love looks like when it comes to Joe.

wc: 3.5k

warning: fluff, just lots of fluff, smutish (more like mentions of sex and that kind of things)

a/n: Just feeling like writing how it'd feel waking up with Joe in a lazy mood— just laughter, soft kisses, and dreaming about what’s next. Remember this is not a series, but if you wanna read more of this Joe, you can find it here.

Feedback is welcomed <3

request are open  | masterlist

The sun had barely started its slow climb when you blinked awake, but the weight of Joe’s arm draped across your waist told you everything you needed to know—there was no reason to move yet.

His breath was soft against the back of your neck, steady, warm. You could feel his chest rising and falling behind you, his legs tangled with yours like he'd decided, even in his sleep, that the space between your bodies was unnecessary.

You smiled, eyes still closed, and stretched ever so slightly. His hold tightened instinctively.

“Mmm—don’t,” came his voice, hoarse and lazy. “You’ll make me wake up.”

“You’re already awake.”

“Nope. Dreaming. You’re a very specific dream about cinnamon toast and soft things.”

You laughed, low and quiet. “Are you calling me a soft thing?”

“I’m saying you smell like sleep and sunshine and I wanna keep you here forever, so take that however you want.”

You turned just enough to face him. His hair was a mess—fluffy and ridiculous—and his eyes were still half-lidded with sleep, but the way he looked at you… it was unfiltered. Like you were the first good thing he’d ever seen in the morning. Like the world didn’t start spinning until you opened your eyes.

“Hi,” you whispered.

He smiled, slow and sleepy. “Hi.”

A hand found your hip, then wandered to your back, just resting there, grounding you. You pressed your forehead to his, brushing your nose lazily against his.

“What’s on your schedule for today?” you murmured.

He yawned. “Not a thing.”

“Oh?”

“Stay in bed. Kiss you occasionally. Maybe steal your pillow.”

“Ambitious.”

“Dangerous,” he added, grinning. “You’re the dangerous one, lying here like this, looking so cuddly and not expecting me to do something about it.”

“I don’t mind if you do.”

“Good,” he murmured, already nuzzling closer. “’Cause I wasn’t asking.”

But you both knew that wasn’t entirely true—this softness, this morning, technically wasn’t yours to keep. You both had things to do, places to be… and yet, it felt like the only place you were needed was right there, wrapped in each other’s arms, doing absolutely nothing.

He kissed you—barely there, just a brush of lips, soft and unhurried. His fingers tangled in your hair, tenderly, but his kiss deepened. The warmth of his body against yours stirred something slow and molten in your chest.

Then his phone buzzed, somewhere on the nightstand.

He groaned and buried his face in your neck.

“I hate the version of myself from three days ago for agreeing to that.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, running your fingers lightly down his back. “You could… cancel.”

He paused. Then shifted—one arm stretching across you to grab his phone. You peeked through one eye as he scrolled, blinked, and hit “Call.”

“Mate—hi. Yeah, I’m feeling rough this morning, think I picked up something on the flight. No, nothing bad, just… not at my best. Think I’m gonna have to reschedule. I know. I’m sorry.”

You bit your lip to stifle a smile, pressing your face into his bare shoulder.

“Thanks. Appreciate it. Yeah, I’ll rest up. Cheers.”

He hung up and tossed the phone somewhere it couldn’t interrupt again.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “That was very convincing.”

He rolled over, pulling you into him, nose brushing your cheek. “I’m an actor.”

“Academy Award–winning behavior.”

“Oh, absolutely. I’d lie to the Pope if it meant staying like this for five more minutes.”

��You laughed and kissed him, soft and slow. It could have stopped there. Should have. But the kiss deepened without trying, and soon you were tangled again—hands in hair, fingers under shirts, breathless and smiling.

He didn’t pull away after that last kiss. Neither did you.

His forehead was still pressed to yours, his lips still wet from laughter, from the sweet, from the simple.

“I had the strangest dream tonight,” he said suddenly, voice still hoarse with sleep and you. “I was in high school again. I had to take a math test... and the teacher was Andrew Garfield.”

You blinked, then let out a soft laugh. “Andrew Garfield?”

“Yeah. He kept telling me I wasn’t showing my work properly. I cried.”

“Poor baby,” you whispered, brushing your fingers through his messy hair.

“And then I realized I hadn’t studied because I was too busy trying to write a poem for a raccoon I had adopted. Named him Dennis.”

That made you laugh louder, your forehead tipping against his shoulder.

“Dennis the raccoon.”

“He wore a bowtie. A red one.”

You were laughing so hard now you could barely breathe. He grinned against your neck, clearly very proud of himself.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered, pulling him closer.

“And you love it,” he murmured.

“I do.”

Joe looked at you like you were the moon and the sunrise and everything in between. “God, I love you.”

You smiled, eyes shining, heart full. “You have no idea how much I actually fucking love you.”

He hummed, kissing your cheek. “I have some idea. But I want more.”

Your hands traced invisible patterns over his chest, your leg tangled lazily between his.

 “Sometimes I feel like I’m going to explode from how much I love you. Like… my body’s too small for it. Does that make sense?”

He nodded, eyes soft. “Makes perfect sense. Sometimes I look at you and think, ‘I could literally do anything for her. Like, I would take a bullet for her.’”

You giggled. “That’s dramatic.”

“Well, that’s part of the job, babe.”

“Guess it is,” you said, before kissing him again—slow and a little clumsy from smiling too much, hands cupping his jaw. “God,” you breathed. “You make everything feel lighter.”

He kissed your cheek. Then your nose. Then your temple. “You make everything feel like home.”

And then there was silence. Not heavy, not empty—just full of everything neither of you needed to say aloud. His hand on your ribcage, counting the breaths. Yours in his hair. Your legs tangled. The world distant.

“I don’t ever want to leave this bed,” you whispered.

He pressed his lips to your forehead. “Then don’t. Let’s stay. Forever… But maybe we could have something to eat.”

Eventually, you made it out of bed—reluctantly, tangled together until the very last second. Joe had to peel himself away from your side like a sticker someone didn’t really want to remove. He followed you out of the room still half-draped around you, his arms loose at your waist, lips brushing the back of your neck as you walked.

In the kitchen, the morning light spilled soft and golden through the windows, painting everything with that impossible glow only slow, perfect mornings seem to have.

You moved to fill the kettle, and he leaned against the counter, watching you like you were something sacred. His shirt hung loose on you, sleeves too long, collar slipping off one shoulder. His eyes followed every movement you made, not in hunger, but in awe.

“You’re staring,” you mumbled, not looking at him.

“Can’t help it,” he replied. “You look like a dream I don’t wanna wake up from.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. He came up behind you, arms circling your waist again, cheek resting against your shoulder.

“Coffee or tea?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Yes,” he mumbled into your skin.

You laughed, pulling away gently to reach for mugs, but he didn’t let go—his hands following the curve of your back like they belonged there. You made coffee like that, his arms loosely around you, his chin tucked in the crook of your neck.

When it was ready, he took one sip and hummed, eyes closing in appreciation. Then, he leaned in and kissed you like it was instinct, like breathing.

You barely managed to toast some bread and scramble a few eggs—his hands never straying far, always touching: your wrist, your waist, your hip, your back. You sat on the counter to eat, legs swinging gently, and he stood between them, one hand on your thigh, the other holding his plate.

Neither of you spoke much. It wasn’t silence. It was communion. A kiss shared with every bite. A stolen touch between sips. A low laugh when he smeared a bit of butter on your nose on purpose, just to have an excuse to kiss it off.

At one point, he pulled the plate out of your hands mid-bite and set it aside, just to wrap his arms around you properly again.

“You’re clingy,” you teased, even as your arms tightened around his neck.

“I know,” he whispered into your hair. “And I don’t care. It’s criminal how far apart we sleep from each other most nights. I’m just… catching up.”

You nodded against his chest, eyes fluttering closed.

There, in the middle of a quiet kitchen, in oversized shirts and sleepy limbs, surrounded by half-eaten toast and coffee gone cold, everything made perfect sense. No plan. No rush. Just his heartbeat against yours and the feeling that, if this was all you had for the rest of your lives, it would be enough.

You ended up back in bed.

The plates from breakfast were abandoned in the sink, forgotten. Neither of you had said it aloud, but your bodies spoke the same language—fingers lingering too long, eyes catching too often, steps unconsciously in sync until there was no other direction to go but back to the sheets. Back to where you could be tangled, unbothered by anything outside the cotton cocoon of your shared morning.

The sun was already high, light filtering through the curtains in strips that painted his skin gold. You lay beside him, your head on his chest, his fingers lazily tracing circles on your arm.

"I love your face," you murmured as you looked up, your fingers tracing the shape of his cheeks.

It was barely above a whisper, like it was a secret too sacred to say any louder. 

He looked down at you, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You propped yourself up on your elbow, leaning down to press a kiss to the bridge of his nose. “Your nose. And this stupid little freckle right here.” Another kiss, just below his eye. “And your lips, obviously. And your jaw—so sharp, it’s offensive.”

He laughed, soft and breathless, eyes crinkling.

“And your eyelashes,” you added, kissing his cheek. “They’re prettier than mine and I’ve made peace with that. Barely.”

“You’re absurd,” he whispered.

“I know”

You shifted closer, your leg slung over his, fingers tracing the curve of his collarbone.

He looked at you like you were made of stardust. Like he'd never seen anything so heartbreakingly soft.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. You know that?” he said, voice low and full of something vast and tender. 

Your throat tightened. “Sometimes I forget. But you remind me.”

He kissed you then, slow and deep, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you.

The kiss deepened, slow at first, then more intent. You didn’t know who deepened first. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him. Maybe it didn’t matter—because once you were tasting him, everything softened and sharpened at the same time. His hand cradled the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair like they belonged there. 

You felt the shift in the air—the way the tenderness tilted into something warmer, heavier. Still soft, still careful. But laced with hunger.

“Hmm,” he murmured against your mouth, breath hitching as you tugged him closer, your leg tightening around his waist. “I thought we were resting.”

“This is resting,” you whispered, kissing him again. “Technically, I’m horizontal.”

He laughed, low and breathless, his mouth brushing yours like a secret. “You’re impossible.”

“Lucky you like that about me.”

“Oh, I do,” he said, letting his lips travel down your jaw, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. “I really, really do.”

Your hands found the edge of his shirt—well, your shirt, technically—fingertips skimming under the fabric and up his back. His skin was warm, alive beneath your touch. He sighed when you touched him like that, like your palms lit something under his ribs.

His hips pressed into yours as his mouth moved down your neck, each kiss sending heat curling through you, pooling low. Still slow, still unhurried—but your body arched instinctively to meet him.

“God,” you gasped, threading your fingers in his hair. “You always do this to me.”

“Do what?” he asked, but he was smiling against your skin, smug and dizzy with you.

“Make me forget anything else exists.”

“Good,” he whispered, lifting your shirt just enough to press his lips to your stomach. “Because nothing else does right now.”

You helped him pull the fabric over your head, your breath catching as he paused to take you in—eyes wide, reverent, like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real.

“You’re perfect,” he said simply, like it was a fact, not something to be argued.

He kissed you again, deeper this time. Slower. You felt him everywhere—his hands on your waist, your thighs, his mouth warm and demanding. You tugged at his shirt and he helped you pull it off, tossing it somewhere behind him without looking.

Your skin met his and it was like a spark—quiet, but electric. Your breaths tangled. The soft rhythm of the morning turned into something molten, something sacred.

Every movement after that was slow. Intentional. A dance you both knew by heart.

His mouth found yours again and again, between words, between gasps, between whispered “I love you”s that felt like prayers. There was nothing rushed in the way he touched you, nothing frantic in how you moved together. Just need, slow-burning and steady, and love—so much love it left your chest aching.

Your fingers dug into his back as your hips moved in perfect sync, your breath catching on a soft moan. He held your face as you came undone, watching you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, whispering your name like it was something holy.

And when it was his turn, when his rhythm stuttered and he pressed his forehead to yours with a ragged breath, it wasn’t just pleasure in his voice—it was devotion.

He stayed inside you long after, his body resting gently against yours. One hand tracing aimless patterns on your ribs, the other tangled with yours. Your legs still intertwined.

Neither of you spoke for a while. Just the quiet sound of your breathing slowing, syncing. The calm after the storm, still buzzing with afterglow.

You brushed his damp hair back from his forehead, your eyes meeting his.

“Guess we’re not very good at resting,” you whispered.

He smiled, that soft, crooked smile you loved. “We’re great at resting. Just... enthusiastically.”

You laughed, and he kissed you again. And again. And again.

There was no telling when exactly sleep took you—but it did, slow and heavy, like waves pulling you under. And he was there with you, chest rising against your back, one arm draped across your waist, hand still splayed like it was afraid of losing contact.

When you stirred again, the light through the curtains had shifted. It was softer now, golden and full, creeping in with the quiet confidence of almost-noon. You blinked slowly, still curled in the cocoon of sheets and warmth.

Behind you, he groaned softly, shifting just enough to pull you closer. His nose buried in your neck. You smiled, eyes still closed.

“Are we alive?” you murmured, voice thick with sleep.

“Barely,” he mumbled. “I think I’ve transcended.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Transcended where?”

He kissed your shoulder. “Somewhere holy. Definitely mattress-based.”

You turned slowly, and there he was—hair a complete mess, lips swollen, eyes still heavy with sleep. Beautiful in a way that made your chest ache. His hand found your waist again like a habit, thumb tracing lazy circles into your skin.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.

You nodded. “More than okay.”

He grinned, eyes still half-lidded. “Yeah, me too. Kinda wanna stay here forever, though. Just like this. Maybe order food from bed and never wear pants again.”

“I’m in,” you whispered, brushing his cheek with the back of your hand. “Screw the real world.”

“Screw it sideways,” he agreed, pulling you into him again.

For a while, there were no words. Just kisses. Featherlight and infinite. His fingers played absentmindedly with yours, your legs tangled like ivy. He kissed your nose. Your temple. The corner of your mouth.

“I love you,” he said, for maybe the hundredth time that day, but each one still felt like the first.

You smiled against his lips. “I love you more.”

“Nope. Not possible.”

“Wanna bet?”

His hands found your hips again, playfully this time. “Dangerous game, babe.”

You giggled, hiding your face in his chest. “God, I could live in this bed.”

“Then let’s build a life here. Bed-based economy. Currency: kisses.”

“Brilliant,” you said, mock-serious. “We’re gonna be rich.”

He laughed and you both dissolved into giggles again, and he kissed you just to quiet the sound. Not out of urgency—just because he could. Because every second without touching you felt like too much.

It was him who spoke first, in a low voice, like he was afraid of breaking the spell.

“We have to get up… right?”

“Hmm.” You didn’t even open your eyes, still curled into his chest. “Define ‘have to’.”

“Well, technically we could live here forever. But one of us is gonna need a shower before we die buried in sweat and pheromones.”

“What if I like your pheromones?” you mumbled, kissing him just below the ribs. He laughed—his laugh, that deep, easy one that always seemed to start in his throat and settle somewhere in your stomach.

“Careful. That kind of talk might awaken my ego and we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Eventually, he sat up, stretching one arm to the ceiling like he meant to touch it, the other still tangled in you. He shook his hair from his eyes and looked down at you—and your whole face lit up just seeing him there, tousled and golden, like the day belonged to him just for existing in it.

“Shower,” he said, gesturing toward the bathroom like he was embarking on a grand expedition. “You’re coming, right?”

“Was that a question or an order?”

“A plea disguised as a threat.”

You laughed as you followed him, the sheets falling behind you like a trail, and he reached back to lace his fingers with yours. You walked naked down the short hallway, wrapped in the kind of silence that felt more like a dream than reality.

The shower was slow. Like everything else with him.

There was no rush. No urgency. Just his fingers soaping your back, his lips brushing your shoulder while warm water streamed over both of you. You kissed each other like the steam wrapped you in some secret ritual—where soap mattered less than skin, and words came in whispers or quiet laughter.

At one point, he leaned his forehead against yours, wet and close, breathing your air.

“You know what’s the worst thing about you?”

“Only one thing?”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes. “You make me think about the future. About plans. Furniture. Grocery lists.”

“Furniture and groceries?” you smiled, stroking his jaw. “How romantic.”

“No, really,” he said, opening his eyes and looking at you like he’d just solved a mystery. “Before, the idea of a Sunday at IKEA sounded like the ninth circle of hell. But with you... I don’t know. I could buy a dresser. Maybe even a ridiculously ugly rug, just because you said it had personality.”

“Wow,” you said, mock-surprised. “Are you telling me you love me enough to tolerate the chaos of my taste?”

“I’m telling you I love you enough to get lost in the lamp section for four hours.”

You laughed, and in the middle of that steam and warmth and the weight of his hands on your hips, it felt dangerously close to perfect.

“I want that,” you whispered, this time without a trace of teasing. “All of it. With you.”

“You’ve got it,” he said, and kissed you like a promise.

You stepped out wrapped in big towels and little giggles, slipping over wet tiles like two kids in love with the moment. He started pulling ingredients from the fridge  while you perched on the kitchen counter, still dripping, still flushed with heat, wrapped in a towel like it was a ballgown. You watched him like he was sunlight made human.

And then, out of nowhere, he turned and asked, seriously:

“Do you think if we adopt a cat, it’ll get jealous if I kiss you more than them?”

“Absolutely,” you said without hesitation. “And I think you should start working on your affection balance now.”

“Are you telling me I’ll have to compete with a narcissistic furball for your attention?”

“Yes. And you’ll lose.”

“Damn. I love this relationship.”

You leaned in to kiss his forehead, the coffee bubbling behind him, the world shrinking down to a humid kitchen full of steam and laughter and soft affection.

Because life with him felt like that—serious, but light. Full of silent promises. And love. The kind you say a hundred times. And somehow—it still felt like the first.